Drugstore Jesus
by Agent Rain Garcia
Summary: A year ago, Mulder made a painful decision in order for him to save Scully's life. Now, he wants to fix what he broke. The question is, in a world turned upside down, can their truth be turned around?
1. Chapter 1: Alone with the Downpour

**TITLE:** Drugstore Jesus

 **AUTHOR:** Rain Garcia Chua (formerly "Agent Rain")

 **RATING:** T

 **KEYWORDS:** MSR

 **SPOILERS:** FTF movie, seasons 5 to 7, Dreamland I.

 **SUMMARY:** In a world turned upside down, can their truth be turned around?

 **DISCLAIMER:** They are never ours and never will be. The title and the summary's line comes from Plumb's song, "Drugstore Jesus."

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE: Alone with the Downpour**

* * *

 _I bought a ticket to the end of the rainbow,_

 _Watched the stars crash in the sea,  
_ _If I could ask God just one question …  
_ _Why aren't you here with me?  
_ _Tonight?  
_ \- Someday We'll Know by the New Radicals

* * *

Before him, the cemented road seemed to stretch endlessly.

Fox Mulder wondered why in the world he had to go to the farthest rental agency in the country if he could've had procured a cheaper deal somewhere closer to his original destination. Now, he had to endure the stretch of miles with only occasional cars whizzing by the opposite lane. He cursed beneath his breath and felt the ache of his dry lips, which he licked afterwards to moisten.

He sighed loudly, as if it could erase the ringing static in his ears. He watched the ominous mat of a red-black starless sky, and the full moon that fought against the thick clouds. Outside, the wind banged against his windows; Mulder knew that rain was not far off. The dark silhouettes of trees which were aligned along the barren fields that surrounded the highway were swaying as the wind intensified, making Mulder cringe. It was not that he was afraid of the storm – no, he was more afraid of what it would remind him of. The memories they brought upon him weren't good. These particular memories had threatened to destroy him before, especially during moments like that evening – moments of loneliness.

And he had been alone for a year now.

Mulder allowed himself another profane word – not because of those memories, but because of his sudden need to empty his bladder. The bottom of his belly felt like a burning, boiling soup of clam chowder. He couldn't hold it until he reached a gas station.

He pressed the hazard lights and swerved the vehicle safety to a lighted corner of the highway. He almost jumped out of the car before dragging himself beneath a dark shade of a large tree. Mulder was about to open his zipper when the riotous sky caught his attention.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he had always found the incoming storm hauntingly beautiful.

The clouds above him were highlighted by angry streaks of lightning, followed by a bellowing thunder. These – the clouds, thunder, the barely visible moon – all moved in perfect symmetry. They were pushing, pulling against each other. Perfect friction.

It wasn't very long ago when a similar sky enthralled him the very same way …

 _"Mulder?"_

His head snapped up towards his back, expecting to find her walking towards him.

However, all that came upon his vision was his rented car, the unusual stillness of the highway, and the promise of more anguish as he drove the remaining miles to his destination.

"You're going crazy," he told himself. He was hearing voices and living up to his fucking nickname.

 _"Mulder."_

He moved his head to his right and found her buckled on the passenger side of a different – and more familiar – car. She looked at him, her watery blue eyes staring straight at him, and that snapped him out of his thoughts.

"What, Scully?" He grinned at her, knowing that the music station he switched to annoyed her to some extent.

"C'mon, Mulder, give that up," was all she said. She knew that he was only changing stations to annoy her. There wasn't a single day that she hadn't criticized his musical tastes and the song wafting through his car's speakers was not an exception.

He lifted his pointer finger and thumb in the air, froze for a moment, and snapped them in unison with the beat. "This is a very good song, Scully. You should pay attention to the words."

" _Lyrics_ , Mulder; you call them lyrics." She rolled her eyes in that adorable manner that he had learned to love, before shaking her head to enclose her face with her soft auburn hair. He suddenly felt the urge to draw her closer so that he could sink his nose into her scent – something that he had instinctively done every morning. Scully continued, "I find _My Way's_ immortal bridge more appealing than this, this, music. Your songs, these songs, are nothing but angst-filled brigades that are complicatedly written to find more ways to euphemize love. It's always about love with these kinds of songs," she sighed, "I think songs _without_ a screaming banshee that may or may not talk about the same topic are not only more honest, but more ear-friendly, too." She gazed out the window and even without seeing, he could feel her eyes piercing the landscape and the darkening sky.

In response, he shook his head to her hypothetical dialogue. He was also perfectly used to the fact that only Scully could make things more complicated when they were not in the first place.

He cleared his throat. "I think this song only bothers you because we once made love with this playing in the background. Unintentionally, of course," he deadpanned and waited for his death penalty. He wished he could take those words back but it was too late. Scully had always stressed again and again that they wouldn't talk about _the_ relationship when they were on the job. He – again and again – slipped every now and then.

Surprisingly, she turned to look back at him and shrugged. "Oh, don't start, Mulder, please," she whispered almost desperately.

He grinned wider, and then turned the volume up. He sang together with the loud cymbals and the singer's scratchy vocals. He was slightly off-key, but he didn't care: "And I don't want the world to see me … 'coz I don't think that they'd understand … when everything's made to be broken …" He looked at her now, making sure that she was gazing into his hazel eyes. "I just want you to know who I am." Mulder reached over and took one of her cold hands into his. He placed her hand on his abdomen, rubbed his knuckles over her palm, and lifted it up to bring it to his lips. She almost jumped at the contact, but smiled slightly.

"Watch the wheel, lover boy."

He wanted to make another smartass remark about wanting to watch her instead, but he ignored the stubborn streak within him and did as she told him. He didn't, however, let go of her hand. Mulder tucked her cold fingers under his windbreaker and as he concentrated on the road, he unintentionally brought her hand down near his lap. This made Scully uncomfortable, since she flushed crimson and pulled her hand back to rest on her knee.

She was onto him before he could feign innocence: "Mulder, we have work to do," she warned him softly.

She was right, as always: they were on their way to interview an alleged witness to a high-profile murder case in rural California. With a twist, though: the witness is an alleged alien-human hybrid too, according to the Lone Gunmen. Sure, they were working, all right, but for Mulder, it didn't mean that they couldn't display their affections towards each other. There was no one else in the car, anyway. And it was _his_ car.

"You should be the one to give it up, Scully," he argued, grabbing her hand quickly before she could hide it from his reach. He settled it near his heart. She glanced at him and he could feel her trying to read his expression. After a while, she settled against him and relaxed. She moved closer to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. To his happy surprise, he felt her lips brush underneath the lobe of his ear before she yawned uneasily. It made his heart drop.

He had told himself many times before to stop bothering her with his own diatribe of an unabridged _Story of Us_ that he had the tendency to dwell towards to when they were alone together. Mulder was aware that making this relationship work had not been the easiest challenge of his life. They both had to work at it, just as they continue to work on the X- Files, and he needed to stop trying to pinpoint bits and pieces of her care for him because the work she allotted for their relationship alone sufficed for her feelings.

She yawned again, as a tear dropped from her eyelid. He resisted the urge to trace the salty tear's path with his tongue. Gently, Mulder rubbed his elbow on her stomach.

"You were up late last night, Agent Scully?" he joked. He pressed the hand he held to her thigh. She chuckled.

"Are you accusing me of … extracurricular activities, Mulder?"

"Maybe."

"Hmm … the only time we were apart last night was when I had to grab some water from the kitchen because the make-out session you wanted to enjoy was draining me of my body fluids," Scully said, yawning again. "That, or you can theorize that I have the ability of astral projection and that I can be with you last night but not really be _with_ you at all."

"You're turning me on right now, so bad," he said in a low gruff, "that's the kind of dirty talk I like."

Before he knew it, Scully grabbed his ear lobe with her teeth and darted out her tongue to taste the sensitive insides of his ear. Mulder bit back a moan, cursing himself for starting this silly game anyway, while trying hard to psychoanalyze himself to control the throb in the middle of his lap. And that part always had the quickest lightning reaction when Scully was concerned.

He yielded this time. "Let's not go there, please, Scully." He hated the way that his voice came out in a small frustrated squeak. Sometimes, he thought she was right after all – that they shouldn't mix business with pleasure. God, one more bite from her and he would have to park his car in the nearest vacant lot and make love to her in the backseat, or front seat, wherever his lust took him.

Seeing the control in Mulder's face, Scully pulled back. She reached for the radio and turned the volume up. There was no real reason for her to still feel new in their relationship. They had waited so long to be together, almost six years, for them to sort everything out and not be concerned about holding each other freely – without thinking if the world was going to end or not if they did so. The small kiss that started it seemed so long ago, and it was, but it was their consensus for them to hide their relationship from their superiors. They had many nights where they sat cross-legged from each other, like a powwow, and they would separate with an imaginary line what was professional and personal. Despite that, trouble would still find them in the most unexpected ways.

Mulder removed his hand gently from Scully's thight to turn the windshield wipers on. By then, the rain had coated his car and the road in front of them to almost zero visibility. Mulder was now driving with care and without words, they broke contact for safety.

Scully moved back to her seat and then opened the dashboard to get the map of California the Gunmen had lent them before they left DC. Frohike had encircled the exact town with a red marker. She scanned the tattered map and squinted her eyes to get a better view of the small captions Frohike had scribbled on it.

"According to this, we are no more than a mile away from Saint Catherine. We'll be there at around …" she made a quick glance at her wristwatch, "4 PM."

"Less than a few minutes to go?"

"Yeah," she answered back, further scanning the map. "I'm still not comfortable trusting your friends and their wayward opinions on this case, Mulder."

He gripped the steering wheel with both of his hands, peering into the wipers and out through the rain that threatened his vision. Thankfully, not a lot of cars were using this shortcut that the Gunmen had instructed them with.

"They are _our_ friends, Scully. You should stop referring to them as only _my_ friends."

She ignored this. "Alien-human hybrid? Now where did that come from? As far as I'm concerned, the case – particularly Cassandra Spender's case – was closed a year ago –"

"Nothing closes definitely on the X- Files."

"So you say." She pointed at a left curve. "There, turn there."

He did as she said, before countering her previous insinuations. "Jeremy Cromwell could be our ticket to the truth, Scully. We lost Gibson Praise last year and I won't let this kind of opportunity pass us up again." Mulder tried to catch her eyes for a second, but stopped when he had to direct his full attention to the road. "I need you trust me on this."

Scully blinked. She was trying to gauge how important this case was for both of them, and particularly, for him. She surrendered, and he knew so, when she cleared her throat. "I do trust you, Mulder. I'm just not comfortable with what Byers told us."

He squinted his eyes at the rain. "What part?"

"That this Jeremy Cromwell apparently received the same vaccination I received in Antartica," she said, edgy.

"We haven't explained what had happened to you back then – yet - Scully. And if it takes this young man to put the puzzle pieces together, I'll take the risk."

Scully had nothing else to say. She also didn't have the strength to talk him out of it anymore. She settled back into her chair and looked out the rainy window. Mulder wondered if something he said had bothered her – or worse, if she was thinking that her opinion wasn't enough for him to consider.

He touched her shoulder and squeezed it. Scully brushed her cheek against his fingers.

"I'm only doing this for you," he softly murmured. He lifted a finger up to caress her smooth cheek.

"I know, Mulder. Thank you."

As the car slowed down and the road evened out, Mulder leaned over to brush his lips delicately against hers. When he concentrated on the road once again, she took one of his hands and cradled it on her lap.

"Maybe if we could determine what the government is hiding from us, from everyone, we could give justice to those who need it: justice for your abduction and cancer, your sister, Emily …"

"Samantha and your parents," Scully added. She pulled his hand from her lap, dragged it across her tight abdomen, up across her breast (and he felt the lacy bra she was wearing underneath), and onto her heart. She let it stay there for a while, allowing him to feel her heartbeat as he drove.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and saw the house that the Gunmen had described to them. He parked the car safely near a sidewalk and then turned the engine off. He cautiously looked around and saw no one around. With this, he took Scully by the back of her neck and pressed his lips fiercely against hers. Her mouth willingly opened and he dove in, allowing himself to be intoxicated by her particular taste. He pulled apart, but couldn't help descending his teeth on her lower lip. Scully licked his lip in response and then they both let go of each other.

"Stop, Mulder. You don't want my lip swollen before the interview. Or during," she laughed, reaching up to brush lipstick from the corners of his mouth. "Get the umbrellas and let's go in there."

Mulder ignored her and kissed her passionately for one last time. He trailed kisses down the base of her neck and whispered against her skin how much he loved her. Scully pushed him away as gingerly as she could, and to soften their separation, he heard her whisper, "I love you, too," under her breath.

Before he could do anything else, she grabbed her make-up kit from the dashboard. Through the rearview mirror, Mulder wiped at the remaining traces of lipstick on his mouth. After they were sure that they looked decent enough, Mulder grabbed the long black umbrellas from behind them and exited the car first. He opened one umbrella, went to her side and opened the door for her. He also opened her umbrella and handed it to her.

Scully took it and gazed up at him.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, her voice heavy. Mulder's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Scully?" he breathed out, unsure of what's happening.

"I said, what are you doing, Mister?"

Mulder inhaled deeply and found a local policeman scanning him with a high-powered flashlight. The officer came closer to him, and Mulder finally had enough senses to excuse himself.

"I'm sorry, I was just … answering a call." He motioned to his pants. The policeman chuckled.

"I thought you were in some kind of trouble. Pardon me, sir." The man saluted him and left to give him some privacy. Mulder waited for the officer to get into his patrol car and leave him in peace, before he emptied his bladder. Afterwards, he went back into his car and drove off again.

By the time he was driving a steady sixty, the rain came down and everything around him seemed to disappear. Mulder swallowed hard and turned the wipers on, pushing away the thoughts that wanted to seize his head.

* * *

 **END OF CHAPTER ONE.**

* * *

 **A/N:** This is another fanfic I wrote years ago, which I found archived online on a web program that can resurrect dead links back to life. I'm happy that this is still available because I enjoyed writing this story and I have fondness for its plot. Again, I have rewritten and extensively edited some parts. But this fic is already completed and it will run for six chapters. I hope you're in for the angsty ride!


	2. Chapter 2: The Sickness of Truth

**CHAPTER TWO: The Sickness of Truth**

* * *

 _"Though I don't know how I feel,_  
 _But I'll know I'll do the right thing,_  
 _If the right this is revealed..._  
 _Because it's always raining in my head,_  
 _Forget all the things I should have said."_

-Epiphany by Staind

* * *

Mulder dipped a thick sugar bagel into his steaming cup of black coffee. He didn't care if people were glancing at him from time-to-time because he was _actually_ drinking coffee in a country that preferred tea. No one should care anyway, since _drinking_ tea with the situation he was about to encounter was not something tea alone could cure. If he didn't have to drive, he would be at a random bar drinking bourbon until he hissed alcohol.

He watched closely as half of the donut's body disappeared beneath the black liquid, then reappeared as a mass of soaked wheat. He brought the pastry towards his mouth, bit at it, and remembered how he was once obsessed with these donuts when he was in university. He had fairly discovered during his second year at Oxford that he couldn't survive studying way past midnight without ordering a box of freshly-baked donuts from _Bocalo's_ , a bakery that was a good block away from his dormitory. Today, when he passed by the old bakery, he couldn't help but stop by and at once decide that he would just wait for the rain to stop until he started driving once more. He still had a lot of time on his hands – sure, he wouldn't want to keep her waiting, but he was pretty sure that the advanced two hour travel time he allotted for himself would not keep her waiting.

Somehow.

Maybe he wasn't as familiar with the English roads as he wanted to think he still was. Or maybe he wasn't as familiar with her, anymore.

"When customers of ours drink coffee during the October rain, it usually means they are about to make a really big bloody decision. What are you doing all alone here?"

Mulder lifted his head from his coffee and chewed slowly at the forgotten piece of bagel in his mouth. The new owner of the shop, Bocalo's son, tapped at the wooden counter in between them. His thick English accent coated his every syllable and Mulder was tempted to also speak the same way – to attempt what he used to do back in Oxford. What this lame attempt of his got were endless laughter from the cruel seniors, and a personal pledge to never try hard in being "English" again.

"I'm going to meet someone," he said, trying hard to smile politely at the blonde gentleman. Mulder wasn't in the mood to discuss the evening that was laid out before him. It was raining, his spirits were dampened, his composure a wreck, and hey, there he was chilling out in a café a few hours from a meeting that could potentially change his fucking life. What kind of man was he?

 _I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to discuss that,_ he thought, making him stifle a snicker.

"Ah, I'm correct!" Eduardo, as his father called him back then, placed a hand on his bright yellow fisherman's cap. "You seem … pretty excited about this meeting. Why so?"

"Ha. I feel like I'm on my way to my execution."

"Who are you meeting with, bloke? If you don't mind …"

Mulder dipped his half-eaten bagel back into the coffee, but this time he didn't pull it out. He watched the dark liquid claim the light, fluffy pastry. "I'm meeting with the past I had to run away from."

"A colleague?"

"Not really."

"A woman?"

The Agent allowed himself to secretly flinch, before replying a cagey, "Yeah."

"Well, lad, you get the best luck of your life, all right?" Eduardo grinned and tipped his cap off towards him. The Agent appreciated the guy's good natured attitude, but that conversation really didn't help him at all. If it did anything, it only forced his nerves to become more fragile that he felt like he was about to swoon.

"Oh, and hey, sir, here's your change!" Eduardo handed Mulder two golden coins, and thankfully, Mulder was alert enough to take them. The owner's son beamed for the last time and then moved to the far end of the room where there were other customers waiting on him.

Mulder squeezed the coins in his palm, feeling the coldness of the metal against his skin …

"Your hand's gotten a lot colder, Scully," he mentioned as he gently gripped her hand to help her out of the car. The umbrella she held on the other hand hit his own and he had no choice but to let go of her. She raised an eyebrow at his concern.

"I feel a little dizzy, that's all," Scully slowly said, already weighing his reaction and anticipating his next move. "It was a long car ride."

Mulder closed the passenger side's door with a loud _thud_. "Do you want to stay here? I could go on and …"

"No, I'll be okay," she assured him, ending the subject at once. Mulder gave her a small pat on the back of her head to signify that he respected her decision and if that was what she wanted, that was what he wanted, too. Side by side, they walked towards the barn-like house of the Cromwell's.

The yard itself was like one big rice field – without the rice. They had to jog in quick steps to avoid their shoes from getting stuck in the rain-softened mud underneath the thick grasses. It was particularly difficult for Scully, who had her four-inched booths on to match her wardrobe (and his height, too). Mulder escorted his partner the best that he could with a hand on her waist, all the while trying his best to avoid the droplets of rain that threatened both of them. Soon, they were inside the wooden foyer of the house. They stomped at its front steps, trying their best to remove the caking mud on their heels.

Mulder closed his umbrella, as did Scully. He rasped on the hard wooden front door and gave her a look when no one answered. He knocked again, this time shouting, "Mr. Cromwell? Jeremy Cromwell? This is Agent Mulder and Agent Scully of the FBI. We're here for your interview."

When Mulder finished, they at once heard some hurried running, then the door burst open. A twenty-something young man examined them through the mosquito net that was blocking the entrance. After he probably assured himself that they were government people with the confident flash of their badges, the young man removed the mosquito net and stepped out of his dark house. Mulder immediately sympathized with the guy's obvious fright at being outside. He wore dark, shapeless oversized t-shirts and gray sweatpants. His hair was messed up and eyes dilated. As his profiler's training clicked like puzzle pieces in his head, Mulder deduced at once that this was a man who had no intention of leaving his property ever again because of something he was deathly afraid of.

"Are you okay, sir? You don't seem well. I can take a look at you; I'm a medical doctor," Scully began as she took a step forward. The man shook his head as his eyes scanned the wide yard before him over and over again.

"No, I'm fine, Agent Scully." He offered her a toothy grin. Scully returned the smile with a smaller one. Despite only hearing their names a while ago and seeing them for the first time, it was no surprise for him to know them by their surnames already. The Lone Gunmen had the opportunity to encounter Jeremy Cromwell when they _happened_ to pass by California one random Sunday and took the opportunity to brief Jeremy on which one was Mulder and which was Scully. Upon returning to DC, Mulder had never seen the three stooges _that_ excited about their random trip.

"If you don't mind, we prefer to talk inside, sir." Scully motioned towards the slightly-ajar door of his house. Cromwell raised his hands up to signify that he didn't want to.

"No, I'm sorry, I would like it better out here. I have not left my house for days now and having federal agents around me here, outside, makes me feel safer. Please allow me to enjoy the rare luxury of the outdoors."

Scully caught Mulder's eyes. He gave her a small nod to indicate that he was thinking what she was thinking: this man was more than frightened; he was freaking out.

"You were, are, Stephen Dorman's close friend, is that right, Jeremy?" Mulder started. Cromwell smiled.

"Yes, Stephen and I shared this house together. We grew up together, you see. We did everything together … down to the last moments of his life."

"Mr. Cromwell," Scully said.

"Jeremy, please. Call me Jeremy just like your partner does," he interrupted. Scully took this with a respectful gesture.

"Okay, Jeremy," she corrected herself, "according to local PD reports, you were a key witness to his murder that took place inside a twenty-four hour convenience store just outside Saint Catherine. You were inside, then you were outside, before the explosion happened. You have also mentioned that _they_ were all intent to kill your friend before you ran out to call for help. Can you relate exactly what had happened?"

"There were customers inside the shop, Agent Scully. Stephen and I had to grab some stuff to fill our empty cupboard. We were clowning around while picking stuff up. There were customers that were also shopping, but I noticed that they were gazing intently at Stephen. When we were about to pay for what we grabbed, we were seventy-five cents short. I told him to stay inside while I go out and grab from the coin purse in the car." Jeremy paused, dropping his eyes down to his feet. "I was barely out the door when I looked back and they were … hitting Stephen on the head. Viciously. Before I could do anything, I saw one of the shadowy people opening his coat and he was strapped in rows and rows of dynamite! I suddenly sprinted from the shop just before a huge explosion took place. I was thrown far from the shop and when I came to, the owner was also beside me. He seemed to not know how he got there or what had happened, too."

Mulder inched closer to Scully, carefully taking note of each piece of information they were receiving. "Deputy Tom Cross told us that you have an idea on why they killed your friend and who these shadowy people were. Could you share that with us?"

Jeremy scratched the top of his head absentmindedly. "It's all because of what Stephen and I have been through."

"What have you been through?" Scully insisted. Jeremy seemed to respond jerkily to the sound of her voice. When he looked at her, he focused on her face with blankness in his eyes.

Mulder didn't like the way he looked at Scully; he cut in before Jeremy could answer. "Is it the vaccine, Jeremy?"

The man didn't seem surprised that Mulder had an idea of the vaccination. He reluctantly looked away from Scully's pale face before bobbing his head up and down. "Yes, I am. I'm one of the sole survivors of an alien sickness, as I have termed it. I was afflicted with it two years ago." His eyes widened in anticipation. "The only reason why I am still alive is because of my father …"

"Who's your father, Jeremy?"

"Conrad Strughold."

Mulder swallowed hard. He couldn't believe it. This man before them was actually the son of a well-known leader of the Shadow Government. It was becoming stranger and stranger. "How is that possible?"

"My father changed my last name to protect me. I still don't understand why he did so. It's like … he made a deal with one of my uncles to give him the vaccine. So that he could keep me alive. My father said, before he died last year, that there were only three of us that survived that terrible misstep …." Jeremy's voice was suddenly interrupted by a gurgle of pain. Mulder turned to Scully and found her losing her balance. She was about to collapse.

Mulder quickly caught her before she could fall to the ground. Scully turned away from his chest as she rubbed her fingers against her temple. He lifted her off of the ground, one hand around her waist and the other underneath her knees. Even through their clothing, he could feel how cold her skin was. Mulder quizzically looked at his partner. What was happening to her?

Before them, Jeremy stood frozen as he gazed at them.

"Scully, are you okay?" Mulder wanted to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear or wipe away the cold sweat that broke on her forehead. He couldn't do that as he carried her, but he hugged her closer, hoping that it would keep her warm somehow. Scully kept her eyes close.

"I-I don't feel too good, Mulder. I think I should go back to the car. You could finish the interview. I apologize, Jeremy," she whispered in a monotone. She struggled against him and he allowed her to find her footing once more with his arm still around her waist. He then offered to help her back to the car, while shooting Jeremy a look of concern. Jeremy nodded silently.

Scully agreed after she made sure that Jeremy was okay with it. Jeremy assured her that he would be waiting for Mulder on the foyer until he came back.

When Mulder positioned Scully inside the car, he gave her a light kiss on the cheek before reclining her chair to give her better circulation. He then opened the air conditioner for her to rest better. When he was done, he returned to her face and found her smiling apologetically at him.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I ruined this …"

"Shh." A finger founds its way atop her lips. "It's okay, Scully. You look like you have a fever coming. You rest here and I'll wrap this up. I won't take long, I promise you." He assured her once more by kissing her on the other cheek. Then, before he could even think about what was happening to her, he jogged back to where Jeremy was. When Mulder reached the man, he was lost in deep thought.

"Jeremy?"

The man's eyes flew up and interlocked with Mulder's. The Agent stopped in his tracks. Jeremy's eyes were watery. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut short.

"Don't pretend, Agent Mulder. We both know the truth."

Mulder raised his eyebrows. "What truth is that, Jeremy?" He climbed the stairs leading to the foyer, until they were both face to face.

"Agent Scully … she's the third person to have survived … _you_ were the person who injected that vaccine into her yourself!"

Mulder shrugged, cautious. "Yeah. Small world, eh?"

The man straightened his back, and for the first time since meeting him, there was a sense of bravery within Jeremy. And nervousness. Mulder shivered when he realized this. He moved his shoulder across his cheek to dampen the sensation.

Jeremy looked at him straight into his hazel eyes without flinching. "Agent Mulder, my life is in danger. I'll be dead within the next forty-eight hours."

"Protection is …"

"There is a new breed of rebels, Agent Mulder. They were given a choice two years ago: to resist or serve. They have chosen to resist. You must never underestimate the power of resistance! And those of us who had no choice but to serve have to suffer the necessary consequences."

"These new rebels you're talking about – what exactly are they? They aren't human, are they?"

"Yes, they _are_." Jeremy placed his hands over his face in anguish. "That's where you're wrong, Mulder. They _are_ human. Ordinary humans with capabilities born out of their collective fear - out of their resistance."

"So they could be stopped?"

"No."

Mulder recoiled and resisted the urge to grab a nearby ledge beside him. "What do you mean they couldn't?" he demanded.

"They may be as sloppy as domestic terrorists, Mulder, but stopping them means exposing yourself – and Agent Scully – to what they are capable of." Jeremy sighed deeply, a sound that seemed to come from his deepest gut. "Often times, Mulder, the enemy we underestimate is the one who can kill us in the end."

"But, you said –"

"Yes, they aren't many. They don't have much strength or capabilities. When the Shadow Government's members were murdered last year, the new rebellion that formed to clean up their mess couldn't be as strategic as the original one. They just couldn't be. No one could back them up now."

"That's why they're as sloppy as domestic terrorists."

"That's where the explosions come in. They think they could clean up their mess with big explosions – as a decoy, as a way of erasing evidence, another process to obfuscate the truth. Their plans are kindergarten in the grand scheme of things – however, it is momentarily effective. But that's where they're wrong." Jeremy eyed him carefully. Mulder shook his head, before placing a finger on his chin.

"They have no connections with the administration; they don't have sophisticated technology to use …"

"There is something else, Agent Mulder."

Their eyes met again. Mulder felt another shiver as he felt the seriousness of the matter, now.

"Stephen and I haven't been friends since childhood. We met each other a year ago, when we found out that we were both survivors of that bee sting. Stephen is … the grandson of another syndicate member."

"Don't tell me that it's that black-lunged son-of-a-bitch …"

"No, not Uncle Spender. I- I couldn't tell you, Mulder. If I do, the information may kill you, too. Let's leave it this way and discuss more important matters instead."

"Like colonization?"

"No," Jeremy's voice dropped to a whisper, "like the life of Agent Scully."

There wasn't much explaining to do, not much reasons to be said – it was all clear. As Jeremy talked, Mulder saw the pattern inside his head as if in a diagram. When they all connected, he felt like he was about to suffer an aneurysm. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, but he tried his best to remain stoic in front of Jeremy. However, the young man sensed the battle within the Agent and placed a light hand on his shoulder.

"I understand, Agent Mulder," he said, still softly. "I could see that you love her."

Mulder still remained as stoic, making sure that his face didn't betray what he felt. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's okay. You two clearly are in a relationship."

Mulder shrugged Jeremy's hand away from him, suddenly afraid. "How did you … are you an …"

"No, of course not. There's … umm, a minute smudge of lipstick on your," Jeremy motioned towards his upper lip and Mulder quickly reached up to brush it away, "mouth. Same shade as hers."

It was absurd now, thinking that this man could be more than what he was. At once, Mulder felt angry and ridiculous. _I'll kill the Gunmen. I'll cut their computers in half and burn their hard drives._

"I apologize for the Lone Gunmen's ridiculous assumption of your identity, Jeremy …"

"They are not really assuming anything, Mulder. They are closer to the truth than they ever thought they were."

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you think do these new rebels want the three sole survivors of that alien sickness dead?"

"The only reason I could think of is the same reason why the other rebels wanted Cassandra Spender dead."

"That's what they are fighting against. We three people could be the only species in this planet who may survive the incoming apocalypse. The first breed of rebels didn't consider us. They assumed that by killing most of the syndicate and Cassandra Spender, they could retreat, stop, and wait for colonization. But there are others, unfortunately, who have known better. They realized that this government vaccine that was injected within me could potentially save the human race. And they don't want the human race to survive, Agent Mulder. Resist or serve. If they resist, then so must we all. No one should serve."

"How did _that_ happen?" Mulder gasped, reeling from the information he was receiving.

"I don't understand how. I don't want to think of anyone betraying me … like Uncle Spender. But I've seen him do stranger things. You see, Stephen and I started living together to protect each other. We have been informed of our possible demise and for the past year, we have been trying to find who the third survivor is. We all have a special connection." He turned his back to Mulder and tugged his t-shirt down to reveal a small thin scar on his nape – similar to the one Scully had. Jeremy pointed to it. "I, too, almost died of terminal cancer. I, too, was given the cure. I'm sure Agent Scully has been through the exact same situation."

"Yes," Mulder replied, astonished, "she has."

"That's how I … felt Agent Scully. I felt it tingle when I talked to her. I _knew_ it was her. She's sick right now because she felt _it_ , too. She just doesn't understand what it is that she's feeling." Jeremy faced him once more. "I've tried so hard to find you, Agent Mulder. I've heard bits and pieces about who you are and what kind of work you do, but I've always been intercepted by the Bureau."

"It's probably _your_ Uncle Spender who intercepted you, Jeremy."

The young man waved a hand to dismiss him. "I don't want to dwell on that."

"W-What about those rebels, Jeremy? I couldn't let either of you die!"

"There's nothing left here for me, Agent Mulder. I am tired of running. I'm tired of hiding. They know who I am and they know where to find me, wherever I go. But they don't know Agent Scully _yet_. She has a chance to escape them. Maybe, she's _meant_ to escape them."

Mulder's heart flip-flopped in his chest. "How?" he asked.

"Make her leave the country. These rebels do not have diplomatic connections – they're undocumented; hence, it has been difficult – or nearly impossible – for them to procure passports or entryways into other countries. And these rebels, once they think they've finished us off, they would kill themselves, too. Again, resist or serve. They would rather die than face the incoming colonization."

"What if they find her out?"

"Then protect her, the best way you can, Mulder. You have to. Force her to leave the country, change her identity, and do not let her come back to the country until it is safe. She's _the_ truth now, Agent Mulder. You must protect her." Jeremy reached a hand out to Mulder.

He could only stare at the outstretched hand before him. He felt doubt taking over his body, overpowering his need to believe in what Jeremy was telling him, overpowering his desperation. _I couldn't doubt this right now. Not like this – not when Scully's life is on the line._ However, he needed proof. He needed something real to hold onto to prove that Scully's life was in danger _again_. There had been so many times that they have been deceived, ridiculed, betrayed; now, Mulder had to be cautious. This was all too unbelievable – he could practically hear Scully whispering in his ear, telling him to trust no one.

"What if I don't believe you, Jeremy?"

Jeremy dropped his hand and he strained to look at him. Mulder also lifted his head to lock eyes with the young man.

"What if you're lying to me? What if this is plain bullshit?"

"Then how do you explain what I know, Mulder? How do you explain what I've just old you? I'm not _one_ of them." He suddenly reached up to shove the bangs cut across his forehead and a wide, reddish gash appeared. Mulder studied it from afar and found that it hadn't been treated – it still had dry traces of blood and dirt around the wound's reddish core.

"You have to get that cleaned up."

"If I do so, there may be more collateral damage in a public place if in case the rebels decide to kill me. Here, here, is safe. I'd rather wait for them here." Jeremy hid the cut once more behind his hair. "I was wounded during the explosion. If I was an alien-human hybrid, Agent Mulder, then you would be scratching your eyes out now."

"I understand."

"So you believe me now?

"No, I couldn't. I apologize, but I couldn't easily accept this. I need more proof."

"Then you want and see, Mulder. Within the next forty-eight hours, I will be dead."

It was all a blur for Mulder when he turned his back on the man who claimed that his partner would be dead in less than a week. He couldn't remember walking across that muddy field, stepping inside the car, and driving away from the property. There were no goodbyes, not even a last look at the man who could lead him to the truth he had been searching for all his life.

They were at least a mile away from Saint Catherine when Mulder finally snapped out of his bewilderment. It was Scully who did so – she had been sleeping all that time and was suddenly snapped awake when they were away from Jeremy's property.

"Mulder?" Her soft fingertips grazed his tense jaw. "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine, Scully."

Of course, that didn't stop her. She straightened up her seat and unclasped her seatbelt. "Can you tell me what's wrong? What happened back there?"

"Nothing. I just, maybe … I think the rain got to me, too. I don't feel well."

"I could drive."

"No. I'm fine."

"Maybe you could just tell me what's bothering you, huh?"

"You're sick, Scully. You should rest."

She still was dizzy, he took note of that. They were approximately a few miles away from Cromwell's house, and little by little, he could see that her color started returning. However, it wasn't enough for her to put up a fight. Scully reached over to kiss Mulder on his neck and positioned herself back on the seat. She knew when he needed space – when he needed time to think – and when she needed to step back. She could leave it alone, for now. Anyway, she trusted him to tell her in his own good time. He _had_ too. They promised to never keep secrets from each other ever since they started becoming intimate.

Her head rolled towards the window and before she knew it, she was asleep again.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The sun had even started peeking through, and it gently traced the contours of Scully's face. A small smile found its way on her lips when she felt the heat against her skin. Mulder couldn't help but glance at her – at how beautiful she was – and the way the sun highlighted her auburn hair. He couldn't help but gaze at that small, innocent smile that he only saw on the rare moments he woke up before she did. During those mornings, he would spend a few minutes just watching her smile in her sleep.

If what Jeremy Cromwell said was true …

He had lost Scully too many times to actually bear the pain of it again. First, it was her abduction, the one she had consistently refused to believe in. Then came her cancer – the most painful threat of them all. During that time, whenever he gripped her frail hand inside of his, he had the constant reflex to cry because she was so vulnerable. Scully was never vulnerable – consciously or unconsciously. And then, Antartica and the bee sting that stopped their intimacy. They both almost died, then. The moment he injected that fucked up vaccine into her, the whole chamber collapsed and luckily, they had a chance to escape. But barely so.

Scully had suffered much for _his_ crusade –a crusade that now, didn't seem to go anywhere.

He couldn't lose her now. Not now, not ever.

So there was no truth to what Cromwell had said. There shouldn't be.

He gingerly took one of Scully's hands and placed a kiss on it.

As he started speaking, he felt that his voice was coming from a different person. This person was not _her_ Mulder: this was the person who became inhuman profiling the hardest serial killers under Patterson years ago; this was the Mulder who discovered those files in the basement; the same boy who watched Samantha being abducted …

"I won't let anything bad happen to you, Scully. I will not lose you …"

"… should go now, bloke. The rain has stopped."

"Huh?"

"Your _woman_ must be waiting."

"Oh," Mulder's voice sounded faint in his ear, and he refused the reflex to shake his head. His legs buckled as he tried to stand up, and to cover up just how startled he was, he brushed his chocolate brown hair away from his eyes with his fingers. He nodded towards Eduardo.

"Thanks."

Eduardo flashed him another bright smile that made Mulder want to punch his face. Mulder ignored this impulse and drank a fourth of his coffee. He tucked his trench coat over and out one arm and held the paper cup in the other. He politely thanked Eduardo on his way out.

Mulder hissed with his teeth clenched when he discovered that it was still drizzling outside. Apparently, the rain _hadn't_ really stopped. Thanks to Mr. Eduardo, he was ruining his suit _and_ his coffee. Sure, the moon was already visible against the sky (which meant that the rain would eventually stop), but it was still windy and cold. Luckily, Mulder made it to his car without getting soaked. As for his uncovered coffee …

He studied the ruined liquid. _I really wanted you to keep me company tonight_. Then without giving it any thought, he threw it into the nearest garbage can. He looked quickly at his watch and berated himself when he realized that he had spent more than half an hour inside the restaurant. He should get the hell out of there now if he didn't want to keep her waiting.

He turned the engine on, turned the volume up on the radio, and whizzed off, leaving behind a trail of tire tracks on the wet cemented ground.

* * *

 **END OF CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

 **A/N** : Thanks for the follows and reviews! I didn't expect to work hard on this repost – I'm practically rewriting the whole thing! Hope you guys like it so far.


	3. Chapter Three: Strength of Will

**CHAPTER THREE: Strength of Will**

* * *

 _"Hold on, hold on to yourself...  
_ _For this is gonna hurt like hell.  
_ _Hold on, hold on to yourself...  
_ _You know that only time can tell.  
_ _What is it in me that refuses to believe?  
_ _This isn't easier than the real thing._

 _My love, you know you are my best friend,  
_ _You know that I'd do anything for you  
_ _and my love,  
_ _Let nothing come between us, my love for  
_ _you is strong and true._

 _Am I in heaven here or am I?  
_ _At the crossroads I am standing..."_

\- Hold on by Sarah Mclachlan

* * *

There were not many opportunities that he had bought flowers for women he admired – not even for his own mother. In all honesty, Mulder abhorred the task of going through the thousand and one arrangements of daisies, roses, lilies just to pick the one that would stand out to a particular woman.

Scully never needed flowers from him to prove that what they had was real. His words and actions were enough: his tongue on her clavicle or his fingers on the silky skin of her cheek. Of course, sometimes, he indulged. There were times when he brought her flowers to the hospital when she had cancer or during the unfortunate times that their cases landed one of them inside a Bureau-paid private room, but that was it. However, there was that one time that he _did_ buy her flowers for purely romantic purposes. Funny, since it was not really necessary.

They had a fight then, Mulder remembered. He wanted Scully to conduct an autopsy on a mutilated Californian tourist in DC on a Sunday morning, while she wasn't even finished writing her field reports for Monday.

Mulder traced his finger on a delicate white rose nestled within the display stand, and he pinched its soft petal. It was sporadic, this decision to buy flowers,and when the cottage façade caught his eye, he thought that it might make him feel better about himself or the situation. He immediately parked in front of the shop before he could talk himself out of the idea. The whiff of the pseudo-botanical garden inside the shop intoxicated his senses at once, and it somberly reminded him of a scent he once slept and woke up with.

She was so angry then when he entered her apartment with so much confidence in his badass stride. Scully shattered that grand entrance when she shouted that he "took her for granted" and he "didn't care about her professional goals!"

That wasn't true. He cared a lot, maybe too much. He only sometimes forgot to show it.

She stormed past him that evening and left him speechless in her wake. He acknowledged that it was his fault (somewhat) so he had to apologize – a task both of them dread when it came up from time to time. It was even worse at that time, since the apology had to cover both professional _and_ personal bases.

He got her three dozen white roses with a single red rose in the middle of the humongous arrangement. He obviously overdid it. Though it felt worth it because an hour after he was about to leave his apartment to go to hers and give her his present, she was already at his door, poised to knock. She apologized to him before she could even enter his place and all he could do was to point at the roses on his couch and tell her, "I was about to do the same thing. Only … with a slight difference."

Scully laughed hard and they kissed. He knew it then when he held her flush against his body – she didn't need a material proof of the way he felt for her. What they shared together was proof enough.

Nevertheless, she whispered, "Thank you for the flowers, Mulder," against his lips before he claimed hers.

What happened after that … well, Mulder couldn't allow himself to think about it, or else he would have a painfully obvious hard-on and the lady behind the counter would surely notice, especially since she had been eyeing him the whole time since he entered the shop.

Mulder released the white rose and allowed his heart to unclench from the pain. He distracted himself with choosing which ones to buy. _Red or white roses? They have blue ones. They actually paint roses now._

But Scully wasn't like any other girl he had ever met or been with before. She was confident in his love for her, but never did take it for granted, either. She made him feel real, insane, complete, everything … for him, she was the only woman he ever wanted.

"What will you take, laddy boy?" the bleached-blonde lady behind the counter cried out in a seductive gasp. Mulder grinned politely at her, ignoring the scream in his mind of _buy flowers and leave. Buy flowers and leave_.

"I'll take a dozen red roses, please."

The lady scooted over and gathered (what he hoped) the finest red roses from the bunch. She made sure that Mulder saw her gently shaking her shapely ass in the air and he tucked away his head in turn, finding something else fascinating with the daisies at the far end of the room. Soon, he was paying for the flowers by the counter and was silently admiring the tiny bow that wrapped around the roses. _She will love it,_ he convinced himself, _she has to_.

Times sure had changed. Mulder was buying flowers and actually pleading that she would like them. That was freaky.

Mulder was about to pay for the roses when something at the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Oh, hail England!

Sunflower Seeds.

"I'll have two of those, too," he told the lady, pointing at the small packs as a little boy would to a new set of toy cars. After he paid for all of them, he eagerly took his purchases out of there. He would have to start screaming in amok if the woman licked her lips and batted her eyelashes at him one more time.

When Mulder was back inside his rented car, he quickly opened a pack of sunflower seeds and started cracking a few between his teeth as if he hadn't tasted one in years. He was so fucking nervous. He couldn't think straight anymore … no, wait, he should relax; he should inhale and exhale. Breathe in and out.

He suddenly looked at the bouquet of roses he placed on the passenger seat and wondered if she would appreciate them. Would she? After what he had done to her?

Mulder felt ridiculous. He held his breath.

 _What am I doing with these?_

 _"What are you going to do now, Mulder?"_

A familiar shaky voice shook Mulder of his self-pity party. He pulled his head from his hands and noticed his wet palms. He had been crying. And there was a jackhammer going off inside his head _and_ heart.

"Are you going to tell her the truth?" This statement was from another voice, but this time it was more calm and collected.

Mulder still didn't answer. He just stared at his palms as if he had only realized he was crying in front of the three stooges, of all people.

He was suddenly afraid. Gazing up, he found the Lone Gunmen peering at him through the dark lighting of their headquarters. The piles of computer spare parts and newspapers contrasted with the brightly-painted walls and blocked the sunlight from the windows.

Byers was able to procure some pertinent data to prove Mulder's fears. He had broken down afterwards with an unnamed dread he had never felt before. His friends allowed him space, thinking that if they let him release his anguish, he would be more cooperative afterwards. It seemed as if they had failed.

Frohike removed his grayish-brown cap from his head and settled it above his chest. "You could do what Jeremy Cromwell told you to do. Tell Scully the truth and book her a flight to Egypt, Switzerland, Sweden, China … wherever!"

"I-it's not that easy, Frohike," Mulder replied, finally finding his voice and wincing when it sounded pathetic to his ears.

"Why not?" Langly demanded, flipping his blonde hair away from his face. "Scully would not hold it against you."

"It's not that easy anymore, because …"

"Because what, Mulder?" Byers lightly asked, kneeling in front of him. He pointed a clenched fist at the others as a warning for them to keep their mouths shut.

"Scully and I … we're …"

"You're married, aren't you?"

"FROHIKE!" Langly and Byers shouted in unison, looking at him with dagger-like eyes. The small Gunmen made a motion that indicated him zipping his mouth in reply.

"It's _almost_ like that. Scully and I ARE together."

Frohike looked away in mock pain and made little gasping sounds of shock, motioning for Langly to comfort him. Langly complied exasperatedly and patted Frohike on the back while rolling his eyes.

Byers, as usual, the one left behind to handle the situation. He sighed loudly at his peers and turned to Mulder. "This makes it all complicated now, doesn't it?"

"Yes. She'll never let me face this threat alone. She'd _hate_ to feel vulnerable. She'd …" _Hate me,_ but he couldn't say it out loud. Another tear escaped his eye and he hastily wiped it away. "Scully would want to face those rebels with me and there is no question that she would die. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't lose her. That's the reason why I never told her what Jeremy Cromwell had told me. Instead, I said that he was schizophrenic and wanted attention from the FBI." She didn't buy it, but another case came by and she was too busy doing autopsies she forgot all about it, much to his relief. "When Cromwell died two days after, the exact number of hours he had given me as proof, I needed more information. I need to know how she could survive."

"You know what you have to do, Mulder. There may be no other way. We could try and help you the best we know how … but what you originally intended to do, I don't think I like the sound of that," Byers reasoned out, his voice growing softer as he ended his statement. At this point, Frohike 'regained' consciousness and perked his ears up.

"What plan is that?" Frohike interjected.

"Mulder has a plan worked out already. He told me over a secure line when I called him to inform him of the circumstances regarding Cromwell's death."

"What's the damn plan?" Frohike once more demanded.

"Pain; extreme and excruciating pain."

Langly and Frohike immediately didn't like the sound of it. Frohike grumbled. Even if Mulder had _stolen_ Scully away from him, the Agent was still one of their best friends, and seeing their best friend in pain wouldn't really atoll for the one he falsely professed. He would rather see Mulder and Scully together than see one of them in anguish. He knew that they were meant for each other.

"I wouldn't let you do that, Mulder," Frohike declared, also kneeling beside Byers. He hesitated before putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't think pain could save her. It might, in turn, destroy both of you."

"What if it COULD save her, Melvin?"

 _Oh no_ , Frohike thought. When Mulder called them by their first names, it meant that he was closer to making a decision than they originally had anticipated.

"No, hot shot, don't do this to yourself …" Langly protested, standing behind the two Gunmen who also wore faces of pure worry.

Mulder hastily wiped his face again, then stood up from the chair. His face showed nothing – not pain, not determination – just nothing. His eyes were glassy; his mouth tight. The Gunmen all shivered. This wasn't the Mulder they knew ever since Scully came. This was the Mulder they met when he was alone and desperate …

"Book a flight for Scully in a pseudonym, Byers. Charge it on me anonymously."

"Where to, Mulder?"

"To the UK. Oxford."

"Wh-what will you do to her?" Frohike had to rephrase his question when he realized how ridiculous it sounded. "What will you tell her?"

"I'll tell her that I'll stop these new breed of rebels. That I don't want her to end up as another dead body for the Shadow Government's statistic. That she needed to live because _I_ needed to live."

A wave or relief washed over the Gunmen. "Really?" Langly wanted to clarify.

Mulder's face broke, and they knew it. He wasn't going to tell her the truth. He was going to lie to his best friend, his lover, his partner, his Scully.

The Agent couldn't meet their eyes as he gathered his briefcase and coat in his arms. They were silenced in their dismay. All of them wanted to do something to stop Mulder – anything just to shake him out of it, but then again, they knew him. Mulder could never be talked out of anything he was hell bent on doing. They were not Scully, and even she sometimes failed in that department.

Before Mulder left their apartment, he glanced back.

"I know what I'm doing, guys. Thanks for your help."

Closing the metal door behind him, a loud buzzing sound came out of their alarm. It was so shrill and loud. It pierced his eardrum painfully …

 _BEEP!_

 _BEEP!_

Mulder moved his head to one side, then to the other. He peeked at the huge red trailer truck behind him, opened his window, and waved an apology.

He needed to concentrate on the road if he ever wanted to reach his destination on time … or if he _ever_ wanted to reach his destination in the first place.

He stepped on the pedal and the car accelerated faster than the twenty he had unwittingly maintained a while ago. He didn't even realize he was already driving.

Just from a simple decision that took a life of its own, just from a single betrayal … that was probably the most painful day of his entire life.

Oh, Christ. Maybe he should include tonight for a runner-up.

With his speed reaching a good steady sixty, Mulder glanced at the roses on the passenger seat and touched them carefully. Their soft texture was almost as soft as her skin in the morning.

He pulled his hand away and settled it on the wheel. The flowers could help ease the unfamiliar tension between them. He was not sure if she was still the same woman he had grown to love over the years; if time had healed her anger for him, or if she still was angry at him.

Times sure _had_ changed.

Another sunflower seed cracked between his teeth and damp husks were thrown into the plastic bag that was opened on the space in between the driver's and passenger's seats.

* * *

 **END OF CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for the feedback! The lack of italics to signal the flashbacks were intentional – I wanted to blur the present with the past as I had originally posted it before in the old TXF boards. I realized that it could get quite confusing so I italicized the lines that signaled the shift between present to past or vice versa. Hope it helps!

Oh, and are you guys ready for Chapter Four? (with an evil grin)


	4. Chapter 4: Product of Derision

This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4: Product of Derision and Conclusion**

* * *

 _"There's a lot of things I understand,  
_ _And there's a lot of things that I don't  
_ _want to know,  
_ _But you're the only face I recognize,  
_ _It's so damn sweet of you to look me  
_ _in the eyes..._

 _It's all right,  
_ _I'm O.K.,  
_ _I think God can explain,  
_ _I believe, I'm the same,  
_ _I get carried away..._

 _The scent of Vaseline in the summertime,  
_ _The feel of an ice cube melting over time,  
_ _The world seems bigger than both of us,  
_ _Yet it seems so small when I begin to cry..."_

\- I Think God Can Explain by Splender

* * *

There she was.

Not even the greatest philosopher known to the history of mankind could explain the tsunami of emotions coursing through Mulder's bloodstreams at that very moment, when he felt like he was being vacuumed into a black hole of absurdity – as if he was about to take a leap forward and he would just be sucked back down to gravity. She was within reach, but he wasn't exactly sure how to reach out.

 _I should be a philosopher, dammit._

The rain had resumed and it was cascading all throughout the picturesque skim streets of Oxford, forcing a horde of passers-by to settle beneath sidewalk awnings. They crowded underneath with cigarettes in their hands, or cups of tea, even gossip. Mulder, meanwhile, was standing out there with them, frozen in his spot as if he just saw the elusive proof of extraterrestrial life before him within the bar. This proof was drinking scotch out of a shot glass.

"Hello, are you quite all right?" a well-dressed businessman asked him. Mulder answered back with a curt nod, making the fellow move away from him. The businessman shrugged at the other passers-by who were also curious about him.

Mulder continued to stare. He stared as the silence overwhelmed him, as he watched her pin her auburn hair behind her ears. They were longer now, he noticed with amazement. The strands settled up until the small of her back, where he used to put his hand to guide her before, and their tips brushed against the soft skin of her bare shoulders. He stared at her small movements, marveling that even if she had her back to him, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world for Mulder.

God, was he glad that there was no one hitting on her. Well, except for that college-frat boy who was sitting a few stools away from her in the same bar. He was eyeing her slender body that peeked from the sheer black dress she was wearing. Did she dress up that way for him? He suppressed a groan as he realized that the distinct effect she had on him was still there and he felt it stir alive in his groin.

She crossed one leg over the other as a white fingertip flicked over the rim of the shot glass before her. Even if he could only see her back, Mulder had a feeling that she had not changed much despite the longevity of their separation. He could imagine the way she looked as if it was yesterday: her wispy black dress that was low-cut and showed the tops of her breasts, that cross pendant on her neck, her pursed lips, the crinkle at the corners of her blue eyes …

Suddenly, Mulder felt incredibly juvenile. He had a bouquet of red roses on one hand and a briefcase in the other. His trench coat was slung over his tense shoulders. What kind of a fool was he? Should he have chosen something more casual to wear for this occasion? He looked like a man going on a business meeting than a man who was on his way to a meet the woman who could possibly dictate the next few events of his life. Maybe he should have taken the time to change in the airport. But how could he? When he was so excited to see her again that he almost left his checked-in bag in the carousel?

Mulder had not been this close to Dana Scully in a year.

He shut his eyes and imagined himself beside her, smelling the sweet fragrance of her honeysuckle shampoo and letting it fill his lungs while gazing deep into the ocean within her eyes. Her lips would be slightly crimson, parted to reveal some teeth, and it always matched her halo of red hair. Then, if he was lucky, he would be rewarded with that certain flush she emitted when they made love …

His knees buckled involuntarily beneath him.

Scully was there, actually _there_ , inside the bar Maggie had told him to go.

Mulder couldn't fucking believe it.

He was so close to her again …

 _He was so close to her again …_

 _He was so close._

 _He was so close._

Mulder opened his eyes in ecstatic shock as those words echoed in his head. Sweat was staining his forehead and they dropped onto his open mouth, onto his panting chest muscles. Looking below him, he paused his movements. The desire to continue was strong and it almost drowned him, his instincts almost carried him away, but he stared from where they were connected – pelvis to pelvis, where she was grinding against him, to the rise and fall of her breasts, to the way she closed her eyes and the façade of sheer pleasure rippling all throughout her body. Her heels dug at his lower back, and she pushed him a bit to signal that he needed to move.

He was kneeling in front of her, watching her naked body writhe in pleasure before him. As always, in total trust, in full surrender of her faculties, her being, her soul to him. The only light of the room from the open draperies of his apartment's windows gave her a dreamlike quality, and he wondered what he ever did to deserve such loveliness …

He was so close to the edge and he could feel, with the way her muscles fluttered around his cock, that she was too.

But …

No. Mulder couldn't do this anymore.

Mulder bit his lip until he tasted blood and blinked back the tears that suddenly pushed back his eyes. He swept his hands over and out her inner thighs to prepare her for his withdrawal. He made sure that there were blankets close to where he was kneeling and slowly, gingerly, he unlocked her heels behind him. With one pull, he disjoined himself from her.

Scully's eyes flew open, and for a moment, he caught the way the bluish ocean of her irises darken with lust and suddenly, turn clear – as clear as her porcelain skin. She knew something was wrong.

He didn't say anything. She wasn't saying anything, too. She instead watched him with no expression on her sweaty face. He knew she was aching to touch him, to ask him what was the problem this time, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

He covered a blanket on top of her before he jumped out of the bed, as if any minute more there would be the end of him. He searched for his boxers and found it at the foot of the bed and placed it on, mindful of the throbbing in his groin.

On the bed, Scully gathered the sheets over her breasts and studied him. Her eyes then transferred to the bruises he had branded on her arms during their foreplay. He had never bruised her this bad before. Something had been on his mind when he brought her here in his apartment, she knew it, especially when he kissed her with tears glistening in his eyes. She should have asked him about it, but before she could start speaking, he dismissed the subject by stripping her panties off and plunging his tongue inside of her.

It gave her the impression that Mulder was _desperately_ making love to her.

"What's going on, Mulder?" Her voice sounded so small inside the deafening static inside his room.

He stiffened, his back to her, and her voice shattered the howling in his brain. There was no turning back now, no going forward or past or future. This was his final decision. He had to fucking face it … no matter how hard it would be.

Mulder absentmindedly secured his boxers onto his waist and sat down at the edge of the bed. His hand, as if with a mind of its own, cupped her knee.

They both tensed. They were both struggling to not pull each other back into one another's embrace. Mulder took a deep breath to control himself and Scully looked down on his hand over her knee, one eyebrow raised.

"Scully," he started, his voice still sounding as pathetic as he thought it had been the past few days, "I h-have to tell you something. Important."

She didn't say anything. She just stared at him so intently it unnerved him. How could he pull through with this? All he could see were her beautiful blue eyes, her delicious body, those lips that he loved so, so much …

Mulder broke their eye contact and pulled his hand away from her leg. "Scully, I couldn't love you this way anymore."

The words were like hot coal when they spilled out of his mouth. He faced her again and saw the way the question flooded her face. He couldn't control the tears that started to race across his cheeks, and God, did he try to stop them, but he couldn't help it. He was going to hurt her. He was going to fucking hurt her. This woman who had given him nothing but her trust, her love, her body, her soul … he was going to hurt her so fucking bad. He was going to hurt her … to save her.

He loved her that much.

"What, what do you mean?" Her voice cracked as she pressed her legs to her upper limb, her whole body starting to tremble.

Damn it, she looked so little, so small, so vulnerable … Mulder couldn't go on with his plan if he kept on watching her like this. He needed to be strong; he needed her to live. He needed her to live so that he in turn, could live on. Even if he had to live on without her.

"It's our relationship. It's us. We couldn't keep doing this. We are fooling everyone around us. We're fooling ourselves." He steeled himself and remembered the script he had burned in his eidetic memory. His voice now became calm, collected as he recited everything from his mind. "You're Catholic, Scully. I'm sure you've thought that you should act better."

She took that as a direct insult and he knew that she would. It was a fucking low blow but he had no choice. He had to attack her where she was weakest.

Her mouth opened and then closed. She flushed again, this time in palpable anger. "What do YOU mean I'm Catholic, Mulder? This was _our_ decision! Have you forgotten about that?"

"I want to forget that decision, Scully."

It was her turn to cry now when the weight of his words crashed down on her. She cried silently but strongly, as if he had hit her with a bullet. He had already extensively mapped where to strike for his plan to come to fruition: her faith, her chosen path, and the respect she had for herself. He was now selfishly using that knowledge against her. He was an asshole and he hated it, but if being an asshole meant he could save her life, then he would rather be an asshole than nothing at all. Because if he lost Scully … then, he would be nothing at all.

Now, he had to make her believe. He had to make her believe in his lie.

"Mulder, what are you trying to do to me?" She paused, breathing hard. "Why are you telling me this at this point of our relationship? It took us so long to get here …"

He stood up; the mere thought of being so close to her while she was crying almost undid him. "Could you live with _this_ , Scully? What we have here is something so immature that people of our caliber and education should have never attempted in the first place. There are bigger things out there than lust, Scully. We shouldn't let lust get in the way of what we ought to do." The bitterness of his words hit him deep within his gut, and he almost gasped out loud. His voice sounded so foreign to him, as if it belonged to someone else.

On the bed, he could hear her sobs getting louder.

"Then, then, what was this all about? You told me you love me, Mulder, and I believe that. I gave you everything, _everything_. I trusted you with my whole life! What we have gone through together, what we have achieved together … not everyone share what we have, Mulder! I thought we believe the same thing when it came to _us_. What more do you want from me? Am I not enough for you?"

Once she had spoken those words to him, Satan must have opened hell up and tightened a noose around Mulder's neck. He felt miserable. He felt stupid. He felt inconsiderate. He felt like a loser. He felt like he murdered someone. He felt dirty, fucked up …

He felt dead.

He waved his hands in the air. "It's not as easy as you think it is, Scully!" His tone sounded desperate, and he felt that he was cracking.

"Mulder, look at me." Her voice was tough and that made him do what he feared all evening: to look into Scully's eyes. Pupil to pupil; corona to corona; iris to iris.

As he expected, she saw the lie in him. She read the lie in him, just as she had done so many times before – he was a book that she had studied all her life and each page of him was imprinted in her memory. He was lying and she knew it.

"Why don't you fucking tell me the truth?" she hissed as she furiously wiped away her tears. She had stopped crying and Mulder found some strength in that.

"This is the truth, Scully," he tried to convince her some more. He tried to regain his composure and missed her gaze once more.

"Oh God," she trailed off, looking down at her feet. A fragment of hope emerged in Mulder's aching chest. Maybe Scully would figure this all out; maybe she could see what he was trying to hide from her. Maybe she would understand his outburst, forgive him, and follow his instructions blindly to the UK. Maybe they would have that happy ending after all. Maybe they would be fine in the end.

Yet, that was only possible if they were in another universe. Scully was no psychic. She was just human, and he loved her for that. She bled when she got pricked, cried when she got hurt. She was so real, so human, while he … he felt nowhere near human that moment.

Because she was so real, the next assumption she breached at him didn't surprise him anymore:

"Is there another woman, Mulder? Is there?" she demanded, voice thick with pain. He jerked his head upward and for the first time in their conversation that evening, he finally told the truth.

"No, of course not."

It was an easy way out, sure, but he couldn't do it. It wasn't him. It wasn't _them_. She was Dana Katherine Scully – a woman he would always be devoted to. He couldn't lie anymore. He had to stick to what he started and in his head, it was already there, waiting its completion. If he wanted to see her alive, he had to.

"Then what is it?" she sobbed out. Mulder's arms dangled dangerously at his sides. They were so tempted to put themselves around her shoulders to comfort her. But his intuition kicked in and he steeled himself once again.

He took a deep breath and spitted it out. "I don't think I could love you anymore, Scully. I'm sorry, but I don't think I ever loved you the way you think I have."

The words were fucking foreign to him. Mulder wished he spoke that last statement in Spanish or any other language Scully wasn't familiar with.

However, Scully perfectly understood him. He realized this when he saw her shivering body and incessant crying. She cried loudly, shaking, and he knew that the sounds of her sobs would forever haunt him in his dreams every single night.

He clutched the edges of the bed sheet nearest to him. His Scully … he had hurt his Scully … Damn his life. Damn his fucked up life!

"How could you tell me that, Mulder? How?"

 _Because I have to save you, Scully. Because I would rather lose you this way than lose you forever._

"I. Just. Did, Scully."

"I don't …"

"It's true. I couldn't love you this way, Scully. We have to stop this insanity."

"Oh no, God …" By then, her eyes were more swollen than her lips had been and she was turbulently shivering. Mulder's eyes clouded once more with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He held his fists violently to control himself.

Before him, Scully clutched the sheets around her body protectively and suddenly panicked. In an instant, she was gathering the stray pieces of clothing that were scattered on the floor awkwardly. Her lips were in a thin line.

When she was finished, she stood before Mulder. They stared at each other for a second, gauging how much truth was pulsing through each other's irises. He tried to keep his eyes as dark and blank as possible. She kept on searching, searching his hazel eyes, trying to find a flash of treachery in him, but he kept his stance.

It must have worked, because the next thing he knew was her hand quickly connecting with his cheek. She slapped him very, very hard that it threw his head from one side to the other.

It stung. Not on his face, but in his heart.

He caressed his jaw, and had to steady himself with the bed's edge. Scully's red hair swayed viciously against her face as she turned away from him. He could see her eyes turn as glassy as his were a while ago. He could see the hate in them, and despite it being his handiwork, he was frightened.

"I appreciate that you don't need me to tell you this – but you're an asshole, Mulder. You're one fucking asshole."

She exited his bedroom quickly and Mulder regained some dignity. He called her name out and she stopped in her tracks but didn't look back at him.

"Let me drive you home. It's late," he offered. He couldn't help it. It was his last chance to be with her.

"Leave me alone."

"Scully …"

"What?"

"You realize that working together … would not be a good idea anymore."

"My resignation will be on Skinner's desk tomorrow morning ASAP."

"Scully?"

"For fuck's sakes, what?"

"We still can be friends, right?"

She muttered the word 'fuck' under her breath a couple of times and slammed the door shut behind her. Mulder stood frozen in his position, one hand over the cheek she slapped and another on a chair to keep his balance. Suddenly, he couldn't hold himself up anymore. He fell to his knees. He gritted his teeth to control the pain within him, but it didn't help. One arm circled his stomach, the other on the floor to prevent him from falling face down. He sobbed, cried his heat out, and shouted her name over and over again until he felt he was about to die from the desperation.

After what felt like a lifetime, Mulder picked himself up from the floor and hobbled towards the living room. He grabbed the telephone and plopped heavily on the couch. He dialed a number from memory.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Scully. It's me, Mulder."

"Oh, God. Fox? Are you okay? You did it, didn't you? Oh my, Dana …"

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Scully."

"Oh, Fox … I don't know what to say. Are you okay? My daughter …"

"Scully just left my apartment. I'll be fine. Did Byers give you the ticket?"

"Yes he did, son." He flinched at that word.

"Make sure she leaves within the next twelve hours, please. I have surveillance on her twenty-four seven to make sure she leaves safely. Please call me when her plane departs and when her plane arrives in the UK."

"I will, Fox. God, what you had to do … I'll try everything to make sure she doesn't stay angry at you for long."

"No, keep it that way, Mrs. Scully. She has to stay angry until she's out of the country, until she's safe."

"W-Whatever you say, Fox. Do keep in touch. Dana will probably be here soon and the pain … I couldn't imagine what you had to go through. Thank you, son. I'm sorry." He could hear her voice tearing up and it hurt him all the more.

"Thank you too, Mrs. Scully."

He dropped the phone back into the cradle and that was it. His mission, for now, was done. And he had never felt so fucking bad in his whole life.

He fell back onto his leather couch and snuggled his body into its familiar corners. He closed his eyes as a few more drops of tears slid down his face. He touched the cheek Scully slapped and let it stay there, until he felt like he was losing everything in his goddamn life. Until he felt that he had nothing else to hold onto – he had no one now, no Scully, not even himself, God, did he even recognize himself after what he had done to her? He started slipping out of consciousness and he berated himself to the very end.

 _He was going to lose it all._

 _He was going to lose it all._

 _He was losing it._

Mulder was going to lose it all: his lunch, his composure, his head, his senses, his mind, his brain …

Just because Scully was in a bar a few steps away from him.

 _Because I have to save you, Scully._

 _Because I would rather lose you this way than lose you forever._

These thoughts reminded him of what he had accomplished the past year they were apart. He saved her, he guessed, from her sure demise a few months ago. He sacrificed the most important thing in his life – her love – just so that he could live in the knowledge that she was safe somewhere. Without him.

Scully had saved him before – a thousand times ever. He owed her everything; she owed him nothing. She kept him honest, kept him whole … he now _needed_ that honesty. He now needed her to make him feel whole again, even just for one night.

He needed to tell her the truth so that she could save him again. So that he could feel; so that he could feel alive.

He regained life in his body once again and he blindly charged inside the bar. He kept only one agenda in his mind and silenced the others that beckoned at him. He could think about them later when he had finally faced her.

He didn't believe in a God, let alone the God she prayed to, but that moment, he whispered a prayer and hoped that the God she believed in heard him too: _Don't let me down. Please._

* * *

 **END OF CHAPTER FOUR**


	5. Chapter 5: Reunion of Loyalty

**CHAPTER 5: Reunion of Loyalty**

* * *

 _"Everyone is changing,_  
 _There's no one left that's real,_  
 _Make up your own ending,_  
 _And let me know just how you feel,_  
 _Because I am lost without you,_  
 _I cannot live at all,_  
 _My whole world surrounds you,_  
 _I stumble then I crawl,_  
 _You could be my someone,_  
 _You can be my scene,_  
 _You know that I will save you_  
 _from all of the unclean,_  
 _I wonder what you're doing,_  
 _I wonder where you are,_  
 _There's oceans in between us,_  
 _But that's not very far..._

 _Can you take it all away?_  
 _Can you take it all away?_  
 _Well you shoved it in my face,_  
 _This pain you gave to me,_  
 _Can you take it all away?_  
 _Can you take it all away?_  
 _Well you shoved it in my face,_  
 _This pain you gave to me?"_

\- Blurry by Puddle of Mudd

* * *

Scully sat impatiently on the cold hard stool of the bar, frowning at the creak it made whenever she attempted to fit one leg atop the other. One more minute spent on the chair and she would be forced to burst outside of the place – with _or_ without meeting him. She didn't care if it was raining vigorously or if he'd come after she had just left (then he'd have to wait for her forever inside that bar thinking that he might have missed his chance or maybe _she_ was the one late – well, it didn't really matter anyway).

Another thing that was bothering her was that gooey-eyed boy who kept staring at her with such … sloppiness. He tried to hide his hungry gazes behind his thick Chemistry book, but that only made it worse for Scully. Another eye at her and she would have to pull out the loaded gun inside her shoulder bag. Impatience was her best friend now; it had been thirty minutes since she stepped into the dark bar. He was supposed to come in any minute now. _Supposed_.

She slipped on and tightened her old trench coat around her, shielding her black dress with a high-cut slit beneath it from the rude Chemistry boy. Her eyes frantically canned the corners of the room to see if he was truly there. And my god, it wasn't just a _he_ from the park she jogged in every morning to clear her thoughts; not just a _he_ who approached her in the grocery to ask her the difference between skim and nonfat. It was _him_ , the person she had tried to avoid for almost a year. The _he_ she had tried to forget:

Fox Mulder.

It was all her mother's fault; it been for a year. She was the one who persuaded her to meet Mulder, since he was "in town" and he was desperate to see how she was doing … as a "friend." Scully snorted. As if it could ever be that simple between them.

When her mother made the suggestion in a nonchalant, playful voice, Scully nervously toyed around with the phone's cord as her hands grew cold. Her mother had been, she thought, purposely ecstatic: Maggie chose her words with care as she relayed the tidbit to Scully. "He has been worried about you, Dana. You know, Fox has been calling me more than twice very week since you left for the UK. He's so concerned about how you're doing there in his old haunt."

 _Ha_. Trust Mulder to make her stay in the UK to still be ALL about him.

Her answers consisted of small phrases – usually with the words "I" and "fine" starting and ending them. When she would be extremely affected of a certain Mulder news or overjoyed by the fact that (at least) he was still alive, she covered her happiness with a small snort. She had been extremely careful of locking up her feelings in a tin box, for she didn't want her mother to know how much she still _felt_ for the man who broke her heart. How could she? She had bitched about him and all their intimate details together during one vulnerable family dinner and cried while doing so. Bill wanted to kill him. Charlie had to restrain his brother. Her mother held her tight, but didn't say anything. She always felt that her mother loved Mulder like her own son, so she didn't blame her for taking his side during that chaotic family dinner. She just wished she'd stop talking about him when they spoke on the phone.

Mothers would be mothers. Her mother, in particular, was the zealous type. She knew that her dearest Dana loved her partner to death. She also knew (or felt, because Scully never confirmed) that despite being _dumped_ (in layman's terms) by this partner of hers in the most compromising position ever, that Scully still loved him. It was a love that defied logic - a love that Scully tried to shake off by jogging in the morning until she was breathless; a love she tried to burn away with the scalding English tea she took in the afternoons at a nearby restaurant; a love she tried to forget when she was in her bed at night, crying out his name in both ecstasy and desperation.

She understood that her mom was only trying to make her feel better. Of course, it was impossible for Mulder to call her mother with such frequency just to ask how she was doing. She couldn't believe – how could she? She needed to be careful, now. Her heart might not have moved on, but her life had. She might not have gotten far ahead, but she was happy with her progress.

For two months after she had arrived in Oxford, she personally alienated herself from everyone who wanted to stay in touch with her. Her mother visited occasionally (she often wondered how she could spring tickets so suddenly on her conservative pension, but she never dared ask), as with her two brothers. She only clammed up and stopped speaking when Bill would rant about how right he was all along about that asshole. She didn't really need for him to pour acid on open wounds.

The last few months, as she had determined, were more promising for her. She started exploring Oxford, enjoying (yes, actually enjoying) the nooks and crannies of the picturesque city. She saw new things, breathed in the England air, and let these occupy the darkness within her. Though her mom and brothers had been sending her weekly checks to help her relax for the first few months in her new flat (they apparently didn't want her to jump into a new job after being in such stress for the past seven years), enough was enough. Scully had never been idle for most of her life and she wasn't going to start now.

Her mother wasn't so happy about her hunting for a job, but she disobeyed her and started hanging around a local university. She made friends with some of the professors there and one day found herself as a substitute for an absent faculty member. She taught medicine, specifically pathology, to a group of wide-eyed and eager medical students and it reminded her so much of Quantico. It made something inside of her burn, as if she had suddenly been lit with a match. She thought the students liked her enough, because while having tea with some of the professors one day, the Department Chair approached her and asked her if she was interested in applying full time.

She was fixing her resume, after having not updated it for the past decade, and she would have been done if it wasn't for her mom's phone call two days ago. Yes, that Mulder was coming to England just to see her. _Just to see her_. If all went well with this reunion, she would be back in action for the next academic year. She only hoped her future students wouldn't be as forthcoming as the teenager a few stools away from her, who by the looks of it was then mentally stripping her of her trench coat and black mini dress.

Honestly, she didn't know what she was thinking when she agreed to meeting Mulder. The mere thought of being face-to-face with the man who broke her heart almost rendered her in epileptic fits.

The idea was tempting, though. She wanted, _no,_ needed, to see him again, to see how he was doing – wait, no, to see if he had been as miserable as she had been. She was only afraid that if she stood in front of him, every ounce of anger she had simmered in her veins for over a year would disappear with one of his smiles. Then, she would surrender back to his arms …

 _Yeah right, Dana,_ her mind snapped at her, _as if he'd want you back._

She hated herself then. She was still hoping … hoping that Mulder would magically sweep her into his embrace and say that he never meant what he told her that fucked up night. She couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling that he would come back to her, that he'd tell her he had been a fool, that he was sorry and he wanted her back. Oh god, it was impossible … but the truth was that this hope had sustained her. It sustained her throughout the first few months when she slipped in and out of painful loneliness. Maybe it was still sustaining her now that she was moving on.

She missed him, dreadfully. So, when her mom asked her to do this as her lovely daughter, she didn't have the strength to say no. How could she? This was what she had been waiting for, unconsciously or not, for almost a year.

How stupid was she? She shouldn't have agreed to this. She shouldn't have at all.

Look at her: she was wearing her best dress, made-up as if she was going to a date, sweeping her hair back naturally the way she knew he liked, even if it was longer now. She wondered if he would like it long …

Oh god, she was so pathetic.

 _He was an asshole to you, Dana, and you're still hopelessly in love with him. You're not any different from him, you know …_

"Lonely night?"

The familiar voice cut through her thoughts like fire to ice. She took a deep breath, so deep it almost collapsed a lung, and for a moment she couldn't do anything. She felt him: his presence, his body heat, his eyes scanning every corner of her. His presence overwhelmed her, intoxicated her, and she thought, _finally, finally, finally_ , like a prayer, a chant that kept on blinking in her head, and she felt herself swirling in a colorless haze.

"Can I join you for a drink?"

Scully gripped the counter tightly. She had to get a hold of herself; she had to remember that she was supposed to be angry at him. She was _still_ angry at him. She had to be. Damn it, this was harder than she thought it would be!

She finally was able to move and she jerked her head lightly against her shoulder to see him.

Their eyes met, and the world stopped. Everything stopped, even time. So much emotions rushed into Scully that moment – fear, anger, frustration, embarrassment, and yes, love, always love – and whatever she felt she saw mirrored in his hazel eyes. Her hold on her glass faltered and she released it on the table with a thud.

Fox Mulder was a few inches away from her. She couldn't believe it. And god, she looked at him hard: his hair was slick from the droplets of rain, his muscles visible against the fabric of his thin shirt, his long fingers were wrapped around a bouquet of red roses and the other hand was clutching a briefcase. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, were shining – no, they were tearing up. Before she could make any hasty conclusions behind this reaction of his, she partially smiled and spoke a name she hadn't allowed herself to say publicly for the longest time:

"Mulder," she said, stopping when it echoed in her brain, "hey."

Time eased and began to tick. The world started moving – first in slow motion, then normally. He grinned. She swallowed a sigh; so familiar, so _him_.

"Hey," he said softly. He still didn't move.

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't have to stand there forever, do you? Have a seat." She hoped her fingers didn't visibly tremble when she motioned to the empty stool beside her. Mulder chuckled nervously – music to her ears, damn it – and he did as she indicated. He settled the briefcase in front of him on the countertop and shyly handed her the flowers. Her heart leapt from her chest to somewhere in the room. She didn't care where it went.

"I, I didn't wrestle them from any guy, this time. I bought them just for you."

She took them in her arms and held them close to her chest. She mouthed a small 'thank you' then lifted the bouquet to her nose so she could breathe in the fresh fragrance. She reluctantly let them go and rested them near her glass.

"You didn't have to get me anything." Her tone was suddenly guarded. She remembered the time she allowed Mulder to buy her flowers during their romantic relationship. It seemed so far, far away.

"It's just a little something," he reasoned out, searching her face. It was the same eyes that she stared at during cold nights in her bed, in her old apartment, and those same eyes that kept her warm when she needed to be; those eyes scanned her now, every single bit of her, and she felt naked. She shifted uneasily in her seat, hearing the creak, and she realized she had nothing to say to him. She was too overwhelmed by this meeting, his presence, and she couldn't look at him, so she looked at the flowers instead.

As she studied the flowers and as he continued to silently memorize her features, she felt an unfamiliar surge of resentment pushing up at her throat. Scully hated the way she melted in front of him, hated the way she yielded to his gaze, hated the way she was responding. The tin box of her heart clanked and clamored to get out, but she effectively clamped it with the curling of her fists. She couldn't do this – she couldn't do this with him. She had to stop looking at Fox Mulder and his smiles, to stop hearing his chuckle, to stop letting him drink her in.

She had to stop letting him control her life.

As if he sensed the change in their dynamic, Mulder shifted his body away and slumped against the counter. His gaze was still on her, but they were sad now. As if he was expecting her onslaught any moment then. And he didn't do anything about it. He just sat there and waited, which infuriated her even more.

She closed her eyes and with a deep breath, they flew open. She squinted at him and she knew he was squirming in his seat. "Why did you want to meet me, Mulder?" she demanded, and he kept his cool, nodding gravely as if he understood what she wanted from him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together in front of him as if praying for an unknown god to save him from what was about to happen.

"I-I wanted to see how you were doing." When her eyebrows raised simultaneously, he choked back on what he said and changed it. "Your mother told me that you have been having a great time here in the UK for the past few months. It … It was great to hear. I'm happy for you."

Scully crossed her arms. She surveyed Mulder's frightened posture and it gave her a sense of delicious pleasure. It gave her the last push to finally, finally let the next few words spill out of her mouth:

"Thanks. I'm so happy I'm about to marry a man I met just last night. We fucked the whole night. Is that also great to hear?"

Mulder's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"No, bullshit aside, Mulder, what do you want from me this time?"

His eyes cleared and she knew that he understood what she wanted. He sighed heavily, and decided to be honest: "Scully, I want to talk to you about us."

She was surprised. _What the fuck is he talking about?_ "As I have come to accept, there was never an _us_ ," she deadpanned.

"No, please … listen, okay? I could justify what happened back there."

"Wow," she laughed, bitterly, "do you want me to hold you in contempt of court, Judge?"

"Just listen to me, Scully. Please. All right?"

The fire in her burned; burned so bright it almost blinded her eyes. Or maybe those were her tears – stinging, pushing, prodding.

"No, I will not listen to you, Mulder! The last time I listened to you was when you told me that you fucked with my mind and heart! So please, if you think I'm about to listen to whatever you had to say – spare me the details. I'm through with that."

Her veins throbbed in the sheer lunacy of her anger and it felt good to finally get it off her chest. The anger was driving her high – she felt like she was about to fly out of the bar and into the streets of Oxford. As for Mulder, he was staring back at her with a look of unabashed hurt. It could never equal what he had done to her, but it would do for now.

She wanted to do more – she wanted to shout at him, slap him, hit him, and she was about to do something, _something_ , when Mudler blinked back tears and placed a shaking hand on her arm. Lightly.

Contact was made.

Scully felt the fire from her chest rise up to her cheeks. She stared down at the hand on her arm, to the sleeve where it came from, to its shoulder that was shaking, to the neck that had a nervous Adam's apple bobbing up and down, to the lips that trembled, to the green eyes that were pools of liquid. These eyes implored at her, begged her, and she was captivated by them. They knew that she never meant what she had just said.

Mulder nodded in her direction. "You made yourself clear that you won't listen to me, Scully. So I won't talk anymore." His voice was so calm, so damn calm that she wanted to slap him, but she didn't. She just stared at him, and her body couldn't help but savor the heat of his hand on her skin.

His fingertips left her arm so gingerly, as if Mulder was scared that the minute he broke free from her she would start biting his head off. But she had no more strength left in her; the anger was gone as fast as it had come. All her strength was concentrated on his eyes, and against her will, she found herself trying to read them as she had done so many times before. Gently, he broke their gaze off, too.

He opened his briefcase and before she could speak, he shoved a manila envelope onto her lap. She held the envelope and looked at him once more, searching again for anything, but found nothing there but hope. _Hope for what?_ she wondered. She opened the envelope's flap and pulled out the contents.

What Scully saw before her appalled her.

"Wh-What are these?" Her fingers flipped through approximately fifteen photographs of the aftermath of a large explosion. Some were in plain black and white; some were colored graphically, vividly. In one photograph, she saw the top view of a tattered building. There were debris everywhere and the white outer walls of the structure was one pile of heap on the street. The bomb was so powerful it almost wiped out the whole driveway before the building and its neighboring sidewalk.

Mulder didn't answer her. He watched her silently as she studied each photo. She found it strange that some areas looked familiar - strangely so. This feeling continued until she reached the last snapshot and it came over her:

In the photo was a damaged car. She peered closely at the plate number and she recognized it immediately. It couldn't be …

"Mulder?" she managed to choke out. He reached out her and held her shoulder.

"That's your apartment building, Scully. I'm so sorry."

She raised the photograph of her car to his face. "What happened her? My neighbors, are they okay?"

"We managed to get them out of the place a few days before it happened. We have anticipated it."

"Who, why did they do this?"

Mulder's eyes turned green, as green as fresh grass, and suddenly, Scully was mesmerized. His hand on her shoulder moved to the bare skin of her arm, and it stayed there steadily as he related to her every single bit of information that he had kept from her: Jeremy Cromwell's prediction of her death – the one he had purposely omitted the last few weeks they were together working in the X- Files, the one he had disregarded as the musings of a psychotic madman. He articulated every bit of information from his fantastic memory, but also from his heart. There was the link of her vaccine in Antartica to the two other victims of the new rebellion, what Cromwell suggested him to do, and so much more. When he began to narrate how he came about his decision in the office of the Lone Gunmen, Mulder's voice became low and serious. He seemed to almost be afraid for her to hear what he had decided on that last few days.

Even as he talked, Scully needed no more words. She had figured it all out. Her hand tightened on her open mouth while the other wiped away the tears that kept on gushing out like a waterfall. It made no sense – his sacrifice, his treachery, his desire to save her despite the pain he caused not only her, but also him. It didn't make any sense. Her tears began to materialize through her voice, and she began to mumble unintelligible phrases which caught Mulder's attention.

He removed his hand from her arm and with this, took her hand away from her mouth. He kept it close to his chest, his heart. "I'm so, so sorry, Scully." He squeezed her palm tenderly, tears springing from his eyes and falling freely on his cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry. I really am. I've been for the past year." He tried to catch her eyes with his own, but they were both drowning in a pool of green and blue. _So much sadness,_ Scully realized, _not from me, but from him. From Mulder._

But why all the sadness? What was the point of all this? Why did he have to hurt her instead of telling her the truth? She had to ask, she needed to. She cleared her throat. "Mulder, why didn't you just tell me? It could've save us both a lot of …" she couldn't continue.

His eyes looked so transparent with all the water swimming around his irises. His grip on her hand tightened. "I knew you'd never agree to leave me alone, Scully. I knew you would want to be beside me – to face the threat, to fight this out to the end. Do you remember what we promised to each other?"

She couldn't answer verbally. She nodded and it was all he needed to continue.

"We said, when we started our relationship, we are stronger together than apart. It was our silent agreement before and after we became more than just partners. We were supposed to keep that promise, no matter what. But when Jeremy Cromwell had died, I tried to come up with a better plan with the Lone Gunmen. I really did. Something that would honor what we promised to each other. It was all for naught, Scully. I only realized that if I wanted to see you alive and happy, it had to be without me. I had no choice. I had to break that promise to make sure that someday, I'll see you living your life freely – without monsters chasing you with every step you take. This battle we've waged, this war we've fought … it had to end, Scully. In some way or another, it had to end."

"No," Scully breathed out, pulling away from Mulder. She suddenly felt so guilty, stupid … how could she ever have doubted him?

"Don't blame yourself, Scully," he quickly retorted back, as if reading her thoughts, "don't. I did this because I had to. I did this because it was the only way I could save you." Mulder drew forward, touching her moist cheek with his own. His mouth settled on her ear. "I did this because I love you."

The words he spoke awakened Scully's heart. She felt it unravel, breaking free from its tin box, and spilling out on her chest to give the life she had missed for the past year. She lifted her head suddenly, almost colliding with his forehead in the process. She gazed deep into his eyes, searching again and again for anything to prove his words wrong, but found nothing. Nothing but passion, love for her. She saw what she had seen for the seven years they had been together. It was all there. She saw Mulder, her Mulder, before her. And he loved her. He still loved her.

She threw her arms around his neck and she pressed against his front, body to body. She convulsed against him and cried against his neck, as his hands climbed her spine up and down to calm her down. He repeated her name over and over again like a prayer in her ear, and she surrendered to him. She surrendered everything, even her soul.

"Oh, Mulder, I'm so sorry," she whispered into his skin. Her fingers combed through his hair. "What you had to do … I'm so sorry."

"We used a decoy to make the rebels think that you were inside your apartment, Scully. The Gunmen had someone set up a lifelike doll of you and it moved just like you did," Mulder chuckled, despite himself, "the new rebels didn't have any time to waste to prove it was you, so they triggered the bomb and the explosion happened."

Scully nodded, then kissed the side of his neck. "And you, Mulder? What have you been doing all this time?"

"I have been working in the X- Files. Maybe searching for the truth with a shovel in the middle of the desert." His lips met her earlobe she couldn't help but shiver. He smiled against her skin and she laughed lightly at his familiar joke. "Actually, we've anticipated the rebel's own destruction. That took longer than expected. It happened last week. And another thing, Scully," he pulled away from their embrace and pulled another file from his briefcase, "here are the pictures of a recent explosion just south of DC." More black and white prints landed on her lap. She surveyed each of them. They were photographs of a massive blast that featured at least fifty charred bodies of who, she assumed, were the new rebels.

"All dead, every single one of them. We obtained the list of their names a few months ago and everyone is accounted for. You're technically safe, but we don't want to be too confident. Here." He handed her a thick wad of papers. She breezed through them and couldn't help but smile.

"It's a new identity," she cleared, then read her new name out loud, "Dana Summers. Thank you for not changing much at all. And I have a new resume – almost similar to my real one, well, I was figuring out how to come up with one the past week so this takes the cake. Thank you, Mulder."

"I know you wanted to get back to working. I, I kind of talked to your mom about holding you back from getting a job. For safety reasons."

"Oh, I knew it," she breathed out. "No wonder mom seemed to always be on your side, huh?"

"I guess so," he sheepishly replied, "I call her to check on you almost every week. I, I even bought her some tickets so that she could come and see you here. Umm, now, all you have to do is get on with your life," Mulder said, grinning at her. She couldn't help herself, she smiled back. Yes, despite her mom keeping Mulder's plan from her, she couldn't really blame her at all. She had been honest to Scully about Mulder's intentions. Then again, there was still something else she had to know …

"There's something else missing here. Tell me what it is that links us all – all of us that were given the vaccine. Mulder, what are you trying to keep from me? I want the truth now. There's no sense in holding back."

He hesitated, then resigned. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair and faced her. Mulder held onto her knee and squeezed it tenderly.

"What the original rebellion didn't know, what was successfully hidden from them by the former Shadow Government, was that the vaccine against the alien holocaust COULD be the only hope of humanity against colonization."

"Mulder."

"Scully, you could be the only human being immune to the incoming colonization, whatever you want to call it! You are the _only_ hope."

She looked at the ceiling as the words began to sink in. She sighed deeply, falling into the familiar rhythm of their banter. "That's impossible, Mulder. I'm sorry, but I couldn't accept that –"

"Then, that's like telling me that whatever happened to us the past year was nothing more than a lie - another lie for us to succumb into the grand scheme of this conspiracy. You see, you may be the Holy Grail, Scully. You are what they are afraid of."

"I don't, that's not what I meant, Mulder …"

"Scully, believe me. I really believe this is true," he pleaded, both hands on both of her knees. Scully tensed during the sudden contact and he immediately pulled back.

She shook her head with finality, dismissing whatever rift separated them and telling him in her own way that she _wanted_ to believe. How could she not? After what he had done for her, there was no place for her anger or doubt. She also didn't want to consider that what happened between them was another excuse for whichever Shadow Government was in operation now to write her off from the X- Files. It was the most plausible explanation, yes, but she was sure that it went deeper – maybe as deep as the truth Mulder was begging her to believe.

She really wanted to believe.

She reached over and caressed his cheeks. Mulder closed his eyes in response. She continued, "It would take time for me to accept what you are saying, but I believe you, Mulder. I do. I always will." He leaned into her hand and kissed her palm. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of their skins against each other, then opened them suddenly when she felt him moving away.

She started to panic. _What was going on?_ she thought to herself when she noticed that there were tears in his eyes again. He also was profusely packing his things and moving further away.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice cracked.

"I have to go, Scully."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to go back to DC. To the X- Files. ASAP."

"Oh," was the only reply Scully was able to give. Her heart dropped and it rolled somewhere away from her and again, she didn't have the strength to find it. He could keep it if he wanted to, he could pack it up in that briefcase of his and it was fine – she'd gladly let him have it.  
She thought it was all over now – his crusade, his mission to find the truth, a mission she shared with him a year ago. She guessed the truth was still out there for him, and maybe especially now that he was closer than he had ever been to what he had been searching for. Proof was in his hands for the incoming colonization and there was no stopping him from finding out what the conspiracy's next step would be. There was really nothing holding him back … except for her.  
There were tears again in her eyes. This was it. She had to let him go. She had to allow him to walk away. She couldn't follow him anymore. If he wanted to find that missing puzzle piece that will give him the bigger picture he had always wanted, she would let him. She owed him that much. It was his life now; not hers, not theirs.

Mulder didn't want to look at the woman he loved anymore. He forcefully returned the photos back into his briefcase and thought that if he stared at her any longer, he would sink back into her arms. He had to let her go, if he ever wanted to see her happy. Life with him was never worth it – he had gotten her abducted, sick, barren … god, he was such an asshole, really. If he wanted to see Scully safe for the rest of his life, he had to let go. Even if she married someone else, that would be fine. As long as in his heart, he knew he did the right thing to let her go because he wanted to save her. And it would save her. He truly believed that it would.  
There was nothing else to say, nothing more to do. His life had been an unending circle since she left him. Their meeting today would always stand out in his mind as the moment when the circle stopped and for a moment, just a split second, she brought him out of that circle and allowed him to be free. She saved him. She always did, always will.  
He had to give her up for her own good. She didn't need him anymore. He was just the part that always held her back.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah, Scully?"

"Could you at least leave me the photographs? I want to …"

"Sure."

He grabbed the photographs that he shoved into his briefcase and handed them back to her. She sadly smiled at him and placed them down beside the roses. There was another pregnant pause between them.

"So I guess … this is goodbye," she drew out, breathing hard. She hated the way it sounded and she hated that she was the one who had to say it.

Mulder nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is."

They stood and stared at each other for the what seemed like the longest time and before anything else could happen or be said, Mulder made his move. He turned around and walked away, his mind a frightening blank.

"Mulder?"

He stopped in his tracks.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For … for everything."

He found himself grinning despite it all. "No, thank you. And you're very welcome."

She didn't want to see him walk away from her. She didn't want to be the witness to the way they finally said goodbye. She didn't want to be the one who watched it end.

Through tears, Scully grabbed the photographs and scanned them. As she was doing so, a neat single sheet of paper broke away from the photos and dropped to the tiles. Curious, she picked it up from the floor and gasped when she read what it was.

 _This is not happening! This couldn't be!_ Scully's hands shook as she held the paper before her face. Then, before she could think or rationalize her decision, she ran to the door and chased after Mulder.

"Mulder!" Scully cried out, holding the paper close to her chest. He paused in his tracks and whirled around to face her.

* * *

 **END OF CHAPTER FIVE**


	6. Chapter 6: The Moment of Truth

This chapter contains sexually explicit material and has been completely rewritten from its original content.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6: The Moment of Truth**

* * *

 _"And I'd give up forever to touch you,  
_ _Because I know that you feel me somehow,  
_ _You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,  
_ _And I don't want to go home right now.  
_

 _And all I can taste is this moment,  
_ _And all I can breathe is your life,  
_ _Because sooner or later it's over,  
_ _I just don't wanna miss you tonight._

 _And I don't want the world to see me,  
_ _Because I don't think that they'd understand,  
_ _When everything's made to be broken,  
_ _I just want you to know who I am."_

\- Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

"Mulder," Scully repeated his name breathlessly as she finally reached him. God, her ankles ached – she shouldn't have worn the goddamn stilettos today and she shouldn't run with them out in the cold England rain. But these were small inconveniences that she was willing to overcome if it meant another chance …  
She draped an ailing arm on Mulder's strong shoulders and he looked at her with a bemused smile for a moment. After a heartbeat and after she tried to catch her breath, he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Scully? Didn't I always remind you to buy yourself some sensible shoes? You're not in the FBI anymore, I'm sure loafers wouldn't cramp your style," he kidded, reaching over to brush a loose strand of red hair from her flushed face. She smirked through her deep breaths.

"I need heels to be able to reach you, Mulder."

His face lost its humor when he read between her lines. He swallowed nervously and she took this opportunity to adjust her stance. She squared her shoulders and looked at him straight into his eyes, so straight that she mentally willed her gaze to peel off the remaining walls he kept around his heart.

"What is this?" She raised the crumpled piece of paper to his face. Mulder accepted it from her carefully, scanned it, and gave out a tired, frustrated sigh. He returned it to her.

"Scully, look … you don't have to know about this …"

"You're resigning from the FBI? Is that what this is? Your resignation letter, right?"

"I'm sorry …" He grabbed the paper from her once again and this time, crumpled it into a ball. He tossed it into a nearby garbage pit. "Yes, it's a resignation letter. I'm sorry you had to see it."

Scully's eyes widened and she bit her lip. She couldn't believe it – he actually wanted to leave the FBI. He wanted to leave the X- Files, his life's work, his crusade. And for what? For her? No, not for her, because he was _leaving_ her, too. What was all this shit for, anyway? Scully felt the tears behind her eyes she blinked hard to keep them at bay.

They spent an eternal minute in silence: with Scully tightening the trench coat around her small figure and Mulder shuffling his hands inside his pockets.

She broke the silence. She needed to. She wanted to.

"Go back to the X- Files, Mulder. Don't send in that resignation letter."

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"It's done already. Skinner accepted it a few days ago."

Scully recoiled in shock, and for a moment, she almost reached out to hold onto his arm once more but thought against it. "What?"

Mulder vehemently shook his head. She could see his hands forming fists in his pockets. "It's already done, Scully. Nothing they or YOU will say could change my decision." He exhaled the air he must have held in for the past few minutes. To Scully's ear, it sounded so tired, so defeated, the way he let his breath go.

"Is that the truth?" she whispered, and she didn't keep the pain from her voice. What was there to lose at that point? They had both lost so much now and it felt absurd: to be two lonely figures standing in the middle of a foreign country, each holding their losses out against each other. They had nothing now. Nothing …

"I can't lie to you anymore, Scully," he bit his lip, "I'm all lied out."

"Then Mulder, why? Why did you resign?"

His shoulders tensed and he made a move as if to walk away from her, before facing her again. When their eyes met, she cringed at how much pain there was in him. "The X- Files …" he paused. "You know the reason why, Scully!"

"I don't. Tell me," she urged.

"It isn't worth it anymore …"

"That's not reasonable enough, Mulder!" She threw her hands up in the air, and she felt her whole body tremble at her sudden anger. "This is the X- Files! It's your life's work! It's not VCS, not a background check on manures all over the country, not even me …" she choked, hated that she choked on that, but she truly believed in what she said and he must hear it. "Go back to the FBI and do what you need to do …"

"That's the problem, Scully!" He grabbed her by her shoulders to keep her still. The anger burned in him, and she wondered what he was angry about. She was just telling the truth.

"What IS the problem, Mulder?" she demanded, confused.

"The X-Files is NOT you. It could never replace you. Without you, my work on the X-Files is meaningless. I can't do it alone. I don't want a new partner. You're the only one I want."

* * *

His declaration, his truth, forced Scully in an astonished hush. Mulder opened his mouth to continue but noticed that half of the people inside the bar were looking at them. He and Scully must've been arguing loud enough to catch their attention.  
With a sigh, Mulder patted Scully's shoulders with a whisper of 'wait a minute.' He quickly went inside the bar, grabbed the roses and the photos, paid the bartender more than what Scully consumed, and went back to her. She was still standing there in the same position he left her, so he guided her towards his car with a hand on the small of her back.

Outside and beyond the bar's canopy, the skies were as black as night. It started to drizzle again after a short reprieve, and Mulder had to raise his trench coat to shield himself and Scully from the incoming storm. When a strong gust of wind swept through their bodies and Scully visibly shivered beside him, Mulder instinctively reached over and hugged her. She stopped walking and he stopped moving.

They were a few feet away from his rented car. They were a few feet away from another drive. She was squished in between his arms, the flowers and his briefcase. But they stopped. Rain was about to come, but they stopped and stared at each other.

Scully looked up at him – letting her blue meet his green – and it was home. They were both home.

She reached up to caress his cheek and he leaned into her palm. Then, without warning, she tilted her head up and pressed her lips against his. Lightly at first, testing, tentative, and then he couldn't take it. He hugged her tighter so that her body would meet his and he opened his mouth to drink her in. When their tongues met, his head swam – with the storm, with her taste, with everything he had left in him – and he let himself swim in all things Scully. She tasted delicious – like early morning stakeouts with her drool on his shoulder or evenings of making love during winter. She tasted like the past and so much more, because there was a future. There could be a future. He just had to take it and make it real.  
They broke apart, only to have him chase her lips back and devour her once more. Scully whimpered against his kiss and her body relaxed into his embrace. He supported her weight on his arms and he didn't mind. It felt like fucking heaven after a year of missing her so bad. He wanted all of her – even her weight, her vulnerability, everything.

Finally, he left her lips and kissed her cheeks to murmur against her skin, "Scully, listen to me … if I continue to work on the X- Files to find the truth without you, it would be like fighting without any armors. I'm destined to lose this battle without you by my side, you understand? What good is the truth if I do find it and you're not there to share it with me? You were there every step of the way, Scully. This truth is mine, as much as it yours. It's ours to find, ours to discover, ours to deal with. I can't go on without you, Scully. I can't and I won't."

They kissed again. This time, Mulder could taste the saltiness of Scully's tears. It felt to him that they were kissing forever, so he was mildly surprised when Scully pulled back to rest her lips on his forehead.

"Mulder," she softly said, "what are you planning to do after this?"

"I really have no idea," he answered, and despite the absurdity of what he just said, it felt so good to hear those words out loud because finally, he was telling her the truth. He really didn't know what he would do after meeting with Scully. For the first time in his life, he had no direction. He had no signs. He had nothing to follow, nothing to find, nothing to discover. And for the first time in his life, it was okay. It was all right to be lost.  
He cleared his throat. "I was thinking of driving around England until the rental called the police on me. I don't know if I should go back to the US or find my way here in the UK … but the Lone Gunmen are inviting me to their pad as the fourth hacker. Imagine that: Nark, DOM, Banshee, and Spooky."

Scully laughed. That was when they both realized how wet they were. The flowers were ruined, his briefcase was waterproof (but he thought it was also ruined), their clothes were soaked through and through, and there they were … two people who had lost everything at that point, and they were laughing. They laughed so hard they shook against each other; they laughed so hard Mulder wasn't sure if he was tearing up from the laughter or he was wet from the rain.

It felt liberating. It felt right; it felt like home.

"Well, shit," Mulder cracked, still chuckling, "now the rental will really want the police to arrest me after I waterlog their upholstery!"

Scully giggled, music to his ears, and she kissed him on his cheek. Her lips felt warm against the coolness of the storm. He shivered at how good her lips felt against all things cold.

"Mulder, come home with me."

He moved back to stare at her, searching her face. "Are you serious?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Where do you intend to dry off?"

Had they been apart for a year already? Because when Mulder opened his mouth to tell her that he was going back to a nonexistent motel he rented over the rainbow, Scully's eyebrow raised even higher like a dare: _Go ahead, tell me otherwise_. He was caught. She knew him too damn well.  
Scully urged him on, "I have a flat and it's pretty cozy." When she saw his eyebrows raise up in mock alarm, she backtracked a bit, "No pressure. Let's dry off and talk. Over jasmine tea."

Mulder grinned. " _Flat_?"

"And _tea_." She smiled back. "Stay with me, Mulder. Where else will you go?"

 _To you. Always back to you, Scully_. He didn't say it out loud because he wanted her to read it on his face. She must've, because her smile softened and she reached out to take his hand into her own.

* * *

Yes, they had nothing. They were but two dots in a foreign country with nothing left to their names. But, Scully realized, they had each other. And that made it all worth the losses.

She was boiling hot water in her kitchen in her cotton robe, while Mulder was slowly peeling off his clothes one-by-one in her living room. She had linoleum floors so there was no real fear that the water would seep into the floor underneath hers, but she gave him a rug to stand on and a pail to throw his clothes into. He didn't seem eager to go to the bathroom to change, either. He seemed too tired to take those final steps into privacy – he had been flying and driving for hours before they met. And really, there was no reason why they should be shy around each other.  
Nevertheless, she did turn her back to him and willed herself to not look as she boiled the water and readied their jasmine tea bags.

The water finished boiling, so she poured it into a teapot. She grabbed two cups from her cabinet and placed it onto a Japanese folding table. She carried it towards the living room, but before she could walk, she saw the roses Mulder brought her. They were stacked into a flower vase and were sadly sagging from the previous onslaught of the rain. She tried lifting up some of their petals, to no ado. She decided she'd keep them around for the night and then throw them out tomorrow … or keep some of the petals in her Bible.

She started moving to the living room. "Mulder, the tea's ready. Do you have extra clothes? I could …" she stopped in her tracks.

Mulder stood half-naked in her living room. But that wasn't surprising, despite their long separation – it was the sheer beauty of his nakedness. The large window he was standing before provided sheer lighting on his skin and the meager light that filtered through emphasized just the right places. She could see the outline of his nose as he moved his head to the sound of her voice, the plumpness of his lips that she kissed under the rain, the curves and ridges of the muscles under his shirt, the strong legs …

She stupidly had forgotten how beautiful he was.

Her grip on the folding table tightened as he shook off his wet shirt and tossed it into the pail. That was when she had the practical consciousness to put the table down and safely away from her so that she could stare at his naked back.  
But it wasn't only his naked back that she kept staring at: there was a tattoo on his back. It was so large it practically covered the expanse of his skin, starting from the peak of his nape to the end of his spine, across one end of his shoulder blade to the other. What was more shocking was what it was: a cross that was very similar to her necklace.

She fingered her necklace in reflex as she suppressed a gasp. Mulder let her drink his nakedness in. He wasn't moving, he wasn't explaining. He could probably feel her eyes taking all of this in and he allowed her to do so.

"Mulder …" she said, swallowing hard after she heard her voice break. She drew forward, forgetting that it had been a year since they've last been together. She forgot everything that single moment and she reached out to trace her fingertips on his tattoo. He shivered underneath her feather-light touch.

She traced the sharp corners of the cross, mesmerized at the trail of rippling flesh her fingertips left behind. "Mulder, it's … breathtaking."

He raised his head; her fingertips reached the end of his spine. "I love you, you know; I've loved you all that time."

She moved closer, feeling like she was walking on fire. Everywhere it burned – her skin on his, the hot water waiting for them, the rain outside, his words, her heart. It all burned.  
Scully stopped suffering from the cold. Finally, she felt alive.

With one gesture, she untangled the knot of her robe and shouldered it off. It fell to her feet and she kicked it away. She was now as naked as he was and there was nothing else to keep them apart. Scully conquered the remaining steps between them and pressed her front to his back, her arms snaking up to hold him by his shoulders. She rested her head on that cross, her cheek on where its lines intersected. She closed his eyes and savored the collective warmth of their bodies. When she felt Mulder's knees buckle against her thighs, she held him up with her arms.

"If you still love me, Mulder," she challenged, her voice as still as their bodies, "then why were you letting me go?"

"Because I love you," he calmly answered, though she could hear his breath quicken against her ear.

Scully shook her head. "You're not Jesus, Mulder. You can't save the world on your own. But if the truth is still out there, then it is up to us to find it. Together." She stood on her toes and kissed his nape, where the top of the cross was. "I'm willing, Mulder. We can go back to the US, to DC, after we regroup for sometime here. If you believe that the truth is in me, let's go back and find a way to expose that truth. Let's move forward. Together."

His hands came up and he rested them atop hers on his shoulders. He squeezed her fingers hard. "Why are you so good to me, Scully? After all I've done to you …"

"Because I love you," she answered back. She heard Mulder sigh and she broke her right hand free of his grasp to move it down to his cock. Scully felt him tense against her; she stopped, waited for him to move away or break free if in case he thought it was too fast, but he did nothing. After a second, she took his erection in her hands and was pleasantly surprised to find it throbbing and ready for her.

She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around its base, feeling through its girth from memory alone. She had mapped his body in her mind so many times before and kept the spots he loved being touched in her heart. Her hand moved up to its length, a fingertip finding its tiny hole, and gently, she began to pump him.

Mulder groaned loudly, squeezing her other hand in response, and encouraged, she pumped him harder – up and down, up and down, until his hips moved in tandem with her sweet asault. She could feel her body responding in turn – a surge of wetness overcame her insides and this settled on her entrance, as if asking permission to trickle down her legs.

The air around them was thick and heavy. She could smell herself in the hanging humidity and it excited her to realize that Mulder could probably smell her, too. He felt so good against her hand – nothing had changed, she believed, and it was a wondrous feeling that burned her core. In her head, she was now making new memories, new catalogues in her brain, but she was sure that this time, she wouldn't need to use them often. There would be more new memories to create together, more catalogues to start as one. This time around, she was sure he was never going to leave her alone with just those memories to comfort her at night. They were in this together - truly, finally.

Suddenly, Mulder turned around and severed their contact. With one pull on the hand that he was still holding in his own, he took her in his arms and carried her. Scully let him; he deserved every single part of her, even her weaknesses.

He kissed her forehead. "Your _flat's_ floors are not carpeted, Scully. I miss Georgetown."

She threw her head back and laughed as they maneuvered to the bedroom. She didn't know which was funnier – his continued emphasis on "flat" or that he missed her old apartment. "No, you don't miss Georgetown. You missed me. You missed this."

Mulder growled his agreement.

They were inside her bedroom now. He placed her on the bed and climbed in with her, his body crushing hers. They both moaned as their skins came in contact with each other, her hard nipples pushing against the sparse hair of his chest. She instinctively opened her legs and allowed his erection to settle atop her sex.

Scully reached over to her side and tugged on her lamp. Immediately, soft yellow light flooded the corner of her bedroom and she could see his eyes once more. They were not hazel but dark, dark green – the green of grass after it had rained, the green of the forests at night, the green of life. She ran her fingers through his soft brown hair, once more memorizing those small bumps and scrapes she knew from their life together: this one, from Antarctica; that one, from Russia; this one, from that cow in Kansas; and her finger ran down the curve of her clavicle, to the faded scar on his left shoulder – this one, from her.

"I missed you," he choked out, before crushing his lips against hers.

This kiss was hungry, ravenous even, and she let herself be eaten alive by his desire. He nibbled on her neck, bit on her shoulder so hard she cried out and he soothed it with his tongue, down to raining kisses on her chest, on her breasts, licking her nipples, sucking one so hard it hollowed his cheeks, then biting it to emanate a moan from her throat. He transferred to her other breast while kneading the other, all the while grinding his erection against her thigh.

Scully thrashed her head from one side to another; she was tempted to lift her hips up and sink herself onto his cock to end the agony. Finally, he left her breasts and without warning, inserted one finger into her opening. Scully cried out in surprise.

"Fuck, you're so wet, Scully. All for me?"

She reached for his hair and pulled it so that he could look at her straight in the eye.

"All for you, all this time."

Mulder nodded and watched her face as he inserted another finger. She squirmed to protect her clit from his touch. Any kind of pressure on that sensitive spot would make her come. She wanted to make it last as long as she could for both of them tonight.

He pushed his fingers into her, making Scully jerk and loudly cry out his name, and then he pulled his fingers out. He closed his eyes and sucked them clean of her juices, making small _mmmm_ sounds as he did. When he was done, he placed his hand on her hip and massaged her breast with the other. "I missed tasting you, Scully." He dipped his head from her reach and she knew what he was about to do.

However, she also was desperate to taste him.

"Mulder," she breathlessly called out. He paused and waited for her. "Mulder, come here, I need to taste you, too …"

He smirked. "Yes, my lady. Move here …"

"No," she grinned at him, "you on top."

He moaned at her suggestion. When he opened his eyes, there was fear in them. "Scully, I might choke you."

He wouldn't. She only needed to relax and it would be fine; when they first became intimate, it took Scully a while to get used to Mulder's size. He was probably the largest man she had ever slept with so it was no surprise that for the first few months, she was completely sore. However, as a medical doctor, she understood how resilient the human body was. If it desired to adjust to its mate, it would, and she waited for her tiny body to adjust to his much bigger one. After a few more weeks, they were finally a perfect fit. She knew her limitations and he knew his. Though they've never tried tasting each other this way, she recognized her body's limits. She could take him in.

"Come here, Mulder, let me taste you," she protested, and that was all it took.

Mulder angled his face directly atop her opening, while he bent his back a little so that she could reach his cock. He started by kissing her auburn curls and whispering, "beautiful" on her skin; she did the same on his penis and sucked his tip. In response, Mudler flattened his tongue on her clit and sucked her in too. Her hips bucked against his face; he placed a steadying hand on her thigh and began to lap at her lips, drinking in the wetness that spilled out of her. Scully returned the favor by taking all of him in her mouth. She relaxed her gag reflex and let him graze her throat – the way he liked it, she remembered. She bobbed her head up and down his length, making sure to curl her lips around her teeth because that was the way he liked it, too. Soon, she could feel him moaning incessantly against her vagina.  
With one deep breath, she buried her nose into his pubic hair and Mulder involuntarily thrust into her. She tensed a bit, and then willed herself to open up her throat. She released him with a pop and reached up to lightly massage his balls.

Mulder placed one finger into her canal, as if testing her warmth, and continued to suck at her clit. Soon, she felt his cock pulsing in her mouth in time with her heartbeat.

"Scully, let's … I need to be inside you …" Mulder pushed himself off her. Scully nodded, thinking that this was indeed her Mulder, ever the gentleman.  
He moved to her side, facing her, before pulling at her waist so that she could also face him. Scully smiled at Mulder, feeling the flush on her cheeks. This was their favorite position after they've had a fight; a reminder that they were equals no matter what kind of differences they just weathered together.

That evening, she knew what he was trying to tell her.

Their lips met once more, their tongues entangled with the taste of her sex, his sweat, their breaths, their raw feelings. Scully lifted her leg and placed it on his waist, and in one thrust, Mulder buried himself to the hilt inside her.

She gasped, surprised at how full she immediately was. This was something she never forgot, yet it always felt new to her whenever he entered her.

Mulder tenderly brushed hair away from her face and began to move inside her. He thrust once, as if adjusting himself in her, and then began to move in earnest. When he settled onto a familiar rhythm, they both moaned loudly.

He recovered first, placing light kisses on her cheeks, nose, eyes, lips. "Scully, I, I fucking love you. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."

The moans escaped her throat with abandon now. In between them, Scully made sure she got her point across: "Stop that, Mulder. If you apologize one more time, I'm going to shoot you."

He smirked, moaned, and then reached in between them to play with her clit. Scully leaned into his chest at the contact. Her eyes squeezed shut and she tried her best to control the orgasm that was curling at her belly. They needed to come together. She waited for this for so damn long …

"I'm near, Scully, god, you feel so fucking good. I'm almost there –" He wrapped his free arm around her body and pinned her against him. She was engulfed in a sea of Mulder and it felt so good to drown.

"I'm almost there, Mulder … oh fuck … I love you, love you," she shouted, grabbing onto his hair and pulling as her body climbed higher and higher.

With one last pinch on her clit, she lost it. She shuddered from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, her orgasm reverberating so hard in her inner muscles she was sure Mulder's cock was crushed in the process. He followed at once, holding her so tight there would be bruises tomorrow, and with one last thrust, she felt him expand within her as the last few tremors of her muscles died; he lost it and spilled everything into her.

His orgasm seemed to go on forever and she held onto him, waiting for him to finish, and when he did, he fell back on the bed with a loud whoosh of air from his lungs. He pulled her on top of him and she enjoyed feeling their slick, sated skins against each other. Just the way it should be: home.

Mulder stroked her hair as she fell into the deep lull of the rain outside. "We forgot about the tea," he said and she laughed again. She probably had laughed more than she had ever done this day than she had the past year.

"I'll boil water again later and we can have dinner with tea, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, before lowering his voice, "is … is it supposed to feel this right, Scully? You and me?"

She kissed his chest. "Yes, Mulder. I may not believe in a lot of what you believe in, but I do believe in us. I think we can agree on that, right?"

"Yes, we can … but where do we go from here?"

Scully lifted her head to meet his eyes. She placed her chin on his chest and they stared at each other. She couldn't help herself as she reached up to push back that errant lock of hair on his forehead.  
"Forward, Mulder. As always. Forward. Together, this time."

He grinned his boyish smile, that one she loved so much, that one she believed helped sustain her love for him despite all the pain the past year. "Together, okay?"

"Okay, Mulder." She bent her head back to his chest and closed her eyes. She'd sleep for a while and then when she woke up maybe an hour later, she could cook something …

 _Ring. Ring._

"Fuck," Scully muttered, pushing herself off of Mulder's body. Mulder's eyes were closed but he opened his arms so that she could move.

"Do you have to answer that now?" he whined. She ran her fingers through her hair and kissed him quickly on the lips.

"Yeah, it may be mom or Charlie. They call regularly since I'm so far from them." She reached over her bedside and grabbed the extension. "Hello?"

Underneath her, Mulder moved their bodies so that she could get into a more comfortable position. She dropped her chest on the pillow beside his face to reach the phone, while his fingers lazily traced the tattoo on her lower back.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dana. How are you?"

"Hey, mom," she said into the receiver, giving Mulder a knowing look. He shrugged and continued playing with her skin. "It's late here. What made you call?"

"How did it go?" Trust her mom to not be shy about demanding updates. "Did you see Fox?"

She suppressed a giggle, looking down at Mulder who was contentedly humming against her breasts. "Yes, I did."

"And?"

"And what, mom?"

"What did you talk about?"

Scully rolled her eyes. "Mom, why don't you ask him yourself, since you two have been quite chummy the past year?"

"Dana? What are you …"

She didn't let her mom finish. She thrust the phone into Mulder's ear and held it firmly to his face. Mulder was startled for a second, then had the presence of mind to immediately greet with a feeble, "Hi, Mrs. Scully."

She listened to Mulder's side of the conversation with piqued interest, imagining what her mom must be saying on the other line as Mulder mumbled phrases: "Yes, yes … she knows … she does know about that, too … yes, we talked about that … she's doing great here … umm, yeah, I'm at her _flat_. We got wet from the rain … umm, yeah … no, I'm, I'm staying here … for a while, yeah … no, thank _you_ for everything … can I see you soon when you come here? Yeah … that'll be great … do you want to talk to Dana some more? Oh, tomorrow? Okay, good night from Oxford, Mrs. Scully." He pressed the phone's button and handed it to Scully. She settled it back to its cradle.

" _Quite_ chummy, indeed," she teased, pushing her body back down so that it was her head that rested beside his face. He smiled at her again. That smile. She would never get enough of it.

"She was my friend when everything went into the deep end last year." He reached for her cross necklace and played with it for a while, twirling it around his thumb and watching it glow against her flushed skin.  
After a while, he yawned, and in reflex, she yawned, too. "Gosh, looks like we'll forget about dinner and tea tonight."

"There's always tomorrow, Mulder." She nuzzled his neck and felt her eyelids becoming heavy. Yes, indeed, there will always be tomorrow.

"Scully?"

"Mhmmm?"

"You're so warm," he stopped tracing shapes on her lower back and clasped both of her hands into his own. "Your hands are warm, Scully." He intertwined their fingers together. They slept that way, both contented in the truth that not one of them was ever letting go.

* * *

 **END OF DRUGSTORE JESUS**

* * *

 **AFN:** I had to rewrite this final chapter; I just HAD to. It was like a challenge in my head: there had to be a tattooed Mulder (can you visually imagine how hot it would be for Mulder to have a huge ass cross tattoo on his back? Then he'd only be illuminated by the light from Scully's window … _wheeew_ ); there needed to be legit smut (which I couldn't really write when I first wrote this fic because I was only 14 then); and Mrs. Scully had to call and talk to Mulder on Scully's phone. So there. Thanks for reading and reviewing – and do let me know what you think about the _extreme_ changes I wrought upon this story!

* * *

" **Drugstore Jesus" by Plumb:**

 _Take the blame for saving lives  
_ _You've got the sunset in your eyes  
_ _And you've got the glory on your mind  
_ _Your good intentions are hard to find_

 _You're drugstore jesus  
_ _The miracle is gone  
_ _You're drugstore jesus  
_ _A saint for everyone  
_ _You've thrown your soul away_

 _All your gold turns to dust  
_ _And all your masses lose your trust  
_ _This grand illusion, this planned confusion  
_ _This substitution is tainted love_

 _In a world turned upside down  
_ _Can the truth be turned around?  
_ _In a world turned upside down  
_ _Can the truth be turned around?_


End file.
